Modulation
by Sydney Alexis
Summary: Janeway and her crew are being held in a work camp by an alien race that is far from diplomatic.
1. Part I

Modulation   
  
Modulation  
Sydney Alexis  


Disclaimer: Paramount owns everything but the idea. 

Clarification: In music, modulation is employed when one is changing keys/tonal centers within a piece. Thus, the feel, idea, and emotion in the piece can change from a depressed to a happy sound. 

Based on JuPiter Challenge #22: [from Angela Drews] Write a story in which the first line is, 'He could hear her screams and his heart raced.' Can be frightening, romantic, funny, sweet, whatever your imagination creates.    
  


He could hear her screams and his heart raced. They were pained and sounded more like a threnody for the spirit that was slowly being sucked from her. As it echoed down the corridor and into his cell, Tom tried to cover his ears to hide from the sound. Each one grew more frantic as the torturing session continued, and each succeeded in making his heart ache. He knew that she was of strong will, but her body was frail in comparison. A few more sessions like this one... 

She had stepped in the way of a guard's attack on another crew member today. This wasn't the first time she had been beaten for interceding, and it probably wouldn't be the last. As much as Tom had pleaded with her, she would invariably step in the way. 

A heavy door slammed shut somewhere down the hall. The cacophony of un-oiled iron hinges creaking against each other followed by a guard's distant growl confirmed there was a prisoner on the row. The sound of shackles being drug along the floor grew louder as they approached. Tom felt his heart beat quicken at the sound, terrified by condition she would be in when they returned her. The massive iron door swung open and two heavy-set guards threw her into the cell. 

Captain Kathryn Janeway fell to her knees; the pain too intense to remain standing. She was slowly giving into the dark light that was enveloping her. It offered a warm place to hide where there was no pain, hunger, moans from injured crewmen, and no guards to come for her in the morning. Closing her eyes, she lay down on the cold cement floor. 

Tom pulled her limp body against his. His hands slowly stroked her hair as he hummed softly to her. Over the weeks they had been trapped, it had become a ritual to force her to stay with him. A gentle reminder that he was as dependent on her as she was on him. 

The cell they were held in was small, no more than five feet by seven, and damp. A tiny, barred window was their only reminder that there was life outside of this prison. Early morning light would filter down through it, and, sometimes, at night, they could see a star filled sky. It taunted them, offering brief glimpses of what they had lost months before. 

Food, in the form of watered down broth, came only twice a week. In the early days, they had refused it, worried that it was poisoned. However, current circumstances were such that it no longer mattered. The crew had all but given up hope, believing instead that the only escape would come in the form of death. 

As he held her, he couldn't help but notice how thin she had grown. A direct result of the lack of food and the amount of work they were forced into doing. The punishment was direct; anyone not willing to work would be executed along with everyone on their cell block. 

Tom slid his hand along her back, noting that he could feel each and every rib's outline perfectly as well as the scars from brutal beating she had received in the past. Kathryn began to stir lightly at his touch. 

"Rest. There is still a few more hours before morning," Tom whispered. Kathryn moaned lightly. 

"The guards found the tunnel that B'Elanna and Harry had been burrowing at night. Their cell block...," she stopped. 

"I know," Tom said softly. 

Morning came quickly just as it always did. A screech from the loudspeaker filled the compound, awaking the prisoners. The cell doors all slid open, and each inmate filed out into the main cell block. 

"Roll call. Line up in five's," the lead guard barked towards the crew. 

Row after row, person after person, began to call out their number. The Kamien had deemed it 'the most efficient way of keeping track of their herd.' 

The lead guard, Kenoshia, began to pace behind his podium. To his left, gallows stood prepped with eight nooses. A smug smile tugged at his lips as the blurry eyed crew stared at his latest form of punishment. 

"Yesterday, we discovered a tunnel that lead from cell block E towards the main gate. Those in that cell, numbers...," He stopped, checking his notes for accuracy and a dramatic pause, "120 and 121 have been...dealt with. According to Her Royal Highness's rules, everyone else on that cell block must die. Numbers 122 through 130 please step forward and form a straight line." 

A murmur fell across the crowd as they stepped forward. Kathryn's eyes strained against the blinding sun to make out their faces as they marched up the steps of the gallows. Ensign Kellerman, Lt. Daniel, Crewman Dunst, Crewman Holmes, Ensign Puccini, Crewman Gano, Sam Wildman and.... 

"Naomi," she whispered. 

Anger surged through her. She had witnessed too many beatings, trying to be indifferent to them all so that no one else would be hurt, but somehow, ending the life of Naomi was something she couldn't bear to see. Naomi was an innocent. Her hands bore none of the stains of sin that any of the other crew members. She was barely able to climb up the steps...Kathryn took a step forward from the line. Tom reached out and grabbed at her hand. 

"Kathryn, please..." 

Kathryn smiled at Tom. A few months ago she would have scolded him for using her first name in front of the crew, but here all decorum was irrelevant. The only rule that seemed to preside over this place was survival of the fittest. 

"I have to. She's just a little girl..." 

Tom gave her a fearful look and then nodded slowly. She left the line and moved towards the gallows. Her path was cut short by the butt of a phaser rifle to the back of her head. She fell to the ground, surrounded by the familiar blackness. 

"Well, well. It's my lucky day. Your captain seems to wish to take your places. Release them," the lead guard yelled. 

Pain spread across her back as the familiar sting of the lead guard's bull whip kissed her flesh again. Kathryn could feel blood pouring freely from her wounds. 

Her wrists ached from the weight of her body. They were bound into cuffs as she dangled helpless from the wall. The floor was just a few millimeters out of reach. It taunted her as mercilessly as the guards did. 

Kathryn's throat had long since grown raw from screaming, an action she did not recall doing. Breathing was becoming more difficult as was ability to focus in on what was happening. 

Another order was being barked out by Kenoshia. A hypospray was being placed against her neck. Darkness slipped into her subconscious. It called to her, offering freedom. This time, she gave in. 

Tom began to pace his cell. Kathryn had been taken a little before sunset, and it was nearly morning. His mind was filled with ideas of what had happened to her. For the first few hours, he had heard her screams, but they suddenly grew silent. 

He clamped his eyes shut trying to avoid the images that were flowing through his mind. This place brought up old demons in him. The cell was too close to the one he'd lived in while in New Zealand. The walls seemed to be moving in on him. Never had he noticed how truly small the room was until now. 

"She can't be dead," he said, leaning against the back wall. "She just can't." 

Tom sank down onto the floor, too weak to stand. He eyes began to film over; a haze covered them half from exhaustion half from tears. As much as he hated to admit it, Kathryn was his great hope. His voice of reason that kept him sane within these walls. She'd saved him from his old life and offered him a new one. Helpless...he felt utterly helpless. 

Seven years of memories he had shared with her filtered through his mind. The numerous pool games she had won, her chiding him for the sign at Sullivan's, the reassurance she offered him every shift as she placed her hand on his shoulder, the pain in her eyes as she removed his lieutenant's pip, and the mischievous grin when it was returned to him. Slowly, Tom began to realize he couldn't imagine a life without her. 

Too wrapped up in his own thoughts, he hadn't heard the door to his cell creak open. A guard, dragging Kathryn behind him, throwing her lifeless body inside. She landed on the ground near Tom's feet. 

She became only vaguely aware of her surroundings. The sound of a voice speaking to her softly. It was familiar..a man's voice. 

"Kathryn, please wake up," the voice repeated. She could feel his hand on her face. It was warm and reassuring. She licked her lips. Her palette was greeted with the salty taste of sweat mixed with blood ...the lead guard's handiwork. 

"Tom?" She said at just above a whisper. 

She heard him sigh with relief before responding. He pulled her into his arms again. Placing her head against his chest, she could hear his heartbeat quicken. A smile tugged at her lips. 

"I always did have that affect on you, didn't I?" 

Tom laughed lightly. "You mean being able to put me into a panic about your well being?" 

"Hmm..I was thinking more along the lines of making your heart beat faster," she said, laughing. 

Kathryn felt Tom stiffen at her comment. Craning her neck to look up at him, she saw him crimsoning at her comment. 

Kathryn raised an eyebrow. "Tom Paris at a loss for words?" She laughed at him lightly. 

"I just never thought..." He said, voice trailing off. 

"Never thought what?" she repeated. 

He smiled at her. "I never thought that I would see you again." 

"And leave you all alone to brood? Never." 

Kathryn reached up and drew her hand along his cheek until she met his lips. Her thumb brushing against the soft tissue. She sighed lightly and lowered her hand. 

"Kathryn? What's wrong?" 

He ran his hand along her back, feeling the blood soaking through her uniform. His face instantly changed to one of utter concern. 

She shook her head slowly. "There was just so many things I had thought would happen in my life..." Her voice trailing off. 

Tom remained quiet and waited for her to continue. He drew her closer towards him to offer what little comfort he could. 

"I always put my career ahead of my family life. It's just my personality; the need to be in control. Mark understood it, but hated it. Don't get me wrong. I don't regret my time on Voyager, but I always thought that I would have children, a husband...maybe even a desk job someday." 

"Somehow I can't see you in a desk job," Tom said lightly. 

"Well, it would be worth a try," she said laughing. "Anything would be an improvement to our current situation." 

"Permission to speak candidly, Captain." 

"Granted." She said, raising an eyebrow. 

"Why didn't you ever date anyone on Voyager?" 

She sighed sadly. Given their current situation, revealing too much wouldn't be out of the question. "I suppose protocol for one, and, two, who would want to? I'm grouchy, have a full schedule, am devoted to the ship first, and I wouldn't be objective towards that person." 

"Why do you say that? I've never seen you make a decision based solely on emotion." 

"Then how would you explain the demotion and the thirty days I gave you?" She replied. The words tumbled out before she could stop herself. Kathryn turned her gaze away, unable to meet his. 

Tom reached out and touched her cheek lightly, turning her face back towards his. He smiled down at her, and kissed her lightly on the forehead. 

"Stardate 54392.05. We stopped at an M class planet in the Garrent System. We were married on the holodeck in that beach resort program mine. We went against tradition and I wore that silly, red Hawaiian shirt and you had on a black one piece and a sarong that was in shades of red, orange, and yellow. Chakotay gave you away. 

"We spent two glorious weeks on Takar before we returned to duty on Voyager. When you returned for your first shift, Harry announced your arrival on the bridge with 'Captain Paris on the bridge.'" 

Kathryn raised an eyebrow and finally met his gaze. "Stardate 54392.05 we were no where near the Garrent System, and the only time I have been to that beach resort is when Neelix insisted on holding a morale party there." 

"Surely you remember when I proposed to you. We were on the outskirts of Fair Haven, near the cliffs looking out on the water. The sun was setting in the distance, and the water was slowly turning from a deep blue to black. The wind was howling through the sea caves below. I remember how cold it was because I put my jacket on your shoulders. You turned away from me to look out at the ocean. I placed my hand on your face and stroked your hair lightly just as I've done every day that we have been here. I got down on my knee..." 

Kathryn closed his eyes, not wanting him to see her cry. "None of that happened," she whispered. He pulled her her closer. 

"It could have." 

"Tom, you don't have to humor me." 

"Who said I was humoring you?" Tom replied before drawing Kathryn into a kiss. She didn't protest nor did she back away. Instead, she gave in to him.   
  
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	2. Part II

Modulation Part II   
  
Modulation  
Sydney Alexis 

Disclaimer: Paramount owns everything but the idea. 

Notes: This is the second installment of the Modulation Series.    
Part II  


The duel suns of Kamien rose slowly over the mountains in the distance. Their light filtered in through the tiny window above them, waking Tom from his sleep. He found himself curled up against Kathryn. His arm draped over her protectively.

With the full light of the morning, he was able to survey her injuries easily. The fine porcelain color of her face was littered with angry cuts and bruises. Her left eye was nearly swollen shut, and there was a large cut on her lip. Her right cheek was battered, and a large gash extended from the bridge of her nose to her hairline. Blood has soaked onto the ground and caked her hair around the injury. 

Kathryn's uniform jacket was in tatters in the corner. She'd discarded it in the night, leaving her in only her tank top. Her back was covered in welts. Each at varying stages of healing; some had formed into scars and others must have been received during last night's beating.

From her back, Tom's attention was drawn towards her wrists. They were also badly bruised and nearly twice the size they should be.

Sighing lightly, Tom began to stroke her hair as she started to sob in her sleep.

"What have they done to you?" He whispered.

He knew that she blamed herself for them being there. To be honest, it was no one's fault. The ship had been overpower by a fleet that drastically outnumbered them. Rather than killing the crew instantly, the Kamien Imperial Army had forced Voyager to land on the planet's surface. From there, every crew member was made to march through the mountains to this camp. The journey was over seventy miles long, and the guards sent to escort them had forced them to walk day and night with little to no rest. In all honesty, it had foreshadowed the treatment to come. 

Upon their arrival at the camp, they were forced to work in factories, manufacturing weapons, torpedoes, uniforms, and build shuttle crafts. Each member of the crew was expected to work from dusk to dawn with only a ten minute break for lunch. The factories themselves were filthy. The walls and floor were sticky, presumably stained by the blood of those that came before. The Imperial Army hadn't even bothered to clean the walls.

Punishment in the camp was brutal and swift. Anyone attempting escape would be killed as would every member of their cell. Any member of the crew that fell ill was given only three days to recover, if they were not able to return to duties after that time, they were promptly executed. Interfering with the guards was grounds for a rather brutal beating. Their torture sessions would last anywhere from ten minutes to hours at a time, and would only end when the Imperial Guard Leader, Kenoshia, had had his fill for the day. 

Kathryn had endured more of these beatings than any other member of her crew. At first, it was to protect them, but she soon realized the guards were starting to punish every member on her cell block for her actions. So, she had forced herself to remain indifferent. The good of the many outweighing the good of the few. 

Just as she learned to choose when to interfere, she had also learned escape was next to impossible. However, this lesson came at a much higher price. Seventy crew members had paid for her orders with their lives. Each one made to dig a long, deep crevasse in the center of the encampment. All of them were sealed into coffins and buried alive. Their captors erected a forcefield around the area so that attempts to save them were futile. For hours those left above ground were forced to listen to the buried crewmember's screams. By dawn, only a few voices remained as they were marched out towards their work. At sunset, they were all silenced.

A chill ran through him as Tom recalled those events. Each day in this prison was a mixed blessing. To wake from sleep meant another another day had to be faced, but he also realized that he never would have truly met Kathryn if it hadn't been for their capture. She was bright, funny, and fought hard for her convictions. It was also this personality that lead to her beatings. A few more beatings like last nights...

When they had returned her from her latest torture session, it had taken her over three hours for her to regain consciousness. When she had come around, she had seemed more free in confessions. Their conversation had been sobering if nothing else. A smile tugged as his lips as he recalled the illusion he had painted for her. To be honest, it was one he had dreamt about as of late. At least in his dreams, he was free.

Tom noted that her breath was slowly growing more shallow as she began to wake. She sighed in contentment and turned towards him.

"Good morning, Mrs. Paris," he said, smiling.

"Good morning, Tom," she said, laughing lightly. "Still intent on claiming me for you own I see. As long as you don't start dragging me by my hair.."

"How do you feel?"

Kathryn pushed herself up into a sitting position, wincing in pain. "Never better."

"Maybe you should stay out of the Yard today. Stay in the cell and rest."

"I can't do that and you know it. The second I give up...,"

"You're made of flesh and blood not titanium. You can't keep this up forever."

"No one lives forever, Tom," she said defiantly.

"Don't you think I know that? I think about it every time that they haul you into that room. The only way I know you are still alive is when you scream...," he said, matching her tone, then softening he added, "I thought I'd lost you last night."

Kathryn lowered her gaze. At almost a whisper she replied. "We have to find a way out of here...or die trying."

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	3. Part III

Modulation Part III   
  
Modulation  
Sydney Alexis  


Disclaimer: Paramount owns everything but the idea. 

Notes: This is the third installment of the Modulation Series. You could read them out of sequence, but where would the logic be in that?  Part III 

The morning chime to report to roll call sounded before Tom could reply to Kathryn's comment. He merely sighed and smiled at her.

"Just promise me you'll be careful today?"

She nodded slowly and returned his smile.

As usual, they were lined up into rows of five. This morning, however, did not run as previous days had. The lead guard stepped back to allow another man to approach the remaining crew. 

He was rather portly with jet black hair and citrine eyes. Like others of his species, he had an elongated face, large eyes, and a dark complexion. However, his manner of dress was more ornamented than the other guards. In his hands, he held a data padd and phaser.

"My name is G'tan Tumeric, leader of the Industrial Order. When I call out your name, please step forward. You will _not_ be going to the Yard today. Not complying will mean death."

A slight murmur broke out among the rows. No one that had ever gone anywhere other than the Yard had returned. 

"Silence!" Kenoshia barked from behind Tumeric. 

Tom gripped Kathryn's hand, fearful of what would happen next. She returned his gaze, slipping on a calm façade. Her eyes, however, betrayed her. The carefully veiled terror hiding behind them was unmistakable to Tom. He offered a weak smile of encouragement.

"We'll get through this," he whispered.

A large Imperial Guard moved from his position in front of Tom's cell block and punched him squarely in the ribs. "Kenoshia ordered your silence." 

Tumeric cleared his throat. "Stand down soldier. An injured prisoner can only do half the work as an uninjured one."

The soldier nodded and stepped back in line. Tumeric returned his gaze to the data padd in his hand. "Sam Wildman, Seven of Nine, Thomas Paris, Vorik, and Kathryn Janeway," he paused until each of the five listed crewmembers stepped forward from the ranks and stood in a straight line before him. He regarded each for an equal amount of time. "You are to follow Kenoshia, here. Not complying will mean death. Any questions?"

They all shook their heads slowly in response. 

"Good. I will see you all at the ship." 

Taking a step back, he ordered the remainder of those left to report to their stations and disappeared into the guard's station. 

A large shuttle pulled up into the center of camp. It was crude in formation and bore materials from several different kinds of ships. Some even resembled the remains of Borg vessels. The hatch in the back slowly opened, and all five crew members were loaded aboard and chained onto a narrow bench. Two guards climbed in with them and sealed the door shut. 

Kathryn sank back into her place, regarding those in the shuttle with her. Every one of them looked malnourished. Their uniforms were tattered and most had blood caked upon them. Sam's hands were full of cuts and bruises from the sewing machinery they forced her to work. Kathryn had remembered her comment on how unbelievable it was that a culture this far advanced didn't have replicators yet. 

After the transport was underway, Tom leaned towards Kathryn. "Did he say ship?" He whispered. 

"I think so, but I wouldn't get my hopes up." 

"Perhaps they need assistance scrubbing down their plasma manifolds," Sam said, bitterly. 

"Regardless, we should try and collect any and all data we can while aboard," Seven said. 

"Agreed. Try to run sensors sweeps to find out what their security is on the camp. If we manage to find the frequency that the forcefield is on...," Kathryn started to say. 

"Quiet!" The guard yelled from his seat nearby. 

The hatch to the back of the shuttle opened, and the small group were greeted by the sight of a Kamien vessel. It was roughly twice the size of _Voyager_, clay in color, and pear-shaped in design. A good portion of her was still intact, but a large portion of her was blackened from the phaser fire. 

"Glad to see you all made the transport in one piece. We've been having difficulties with that one...," Tumeric said, laughing. 

"Why have you brought us here?" Kathryn said, stepped forward. She placed her hands on her hips, staring down the much larger man in front of her. 

Kenoshia made a move for his phaser, drawing it out of his holster. "Not complying means death," he repeated. Tom moved in front of her blocking his shot. 

"You obviously need us for some task. Bringing up new workers will only waste time." 

Tumeric stepped forward, punching Tom square in the jaw. "Disobedience is not acceptable, Mr. Paris. However, you do have a point," he said, slapping his communications symbol. "Tumeric to K'nol. Transport us onto the ship." 

A yellow beam encircled the troupe. They materialized in transporter room. Tumeric stepped down from the transport pad and faced them. 

"This ship is one of our flag vessels. You damaged it while putting up your struggle. We need it repaired quickly. According to our records, you are the best suited for this job of those among you still living. Vorik and Seven of Nine, you are to follow T'nor to the Engineering Bay," he said, motioning to the man behind the transporter panel. "Samantha Wildman, you are to report to sickbay to assist doctor. Janeway and Paris, you will follow me to the shuttle bay. Not complying will mean death. Any questions? Good. After you," Tumeric said, motioning for them to walk ahead of him. 

Kathryn and Tom walked ahead of Tumeric, turning left and walking way towards the turbolift. 

"Impressive ship, isn't it, Captain? Little wonder our people were victorious. Pity your foul little security man had to damage her." 

The trio entered the turbolift, and were moved sideways rather than vertically. Kathryn merely raised an eyebrow. 

"We installed our decks as such so that, if anyone tried to take over our ship, we could use the turbolifts against them, spinning them in circles until they lost consciousness," Tumeric explained. "Ah, here we are. Deck 7." 

Tom stood for a moment in awe. Their shuttles were designed for combat. Sleek, black lines with no sharp curves to any of them. They were also built for speed. A few of them bore patches and angry black marks from attacks, but most of them were in fairly good shape. 

"You are to repair the damaged vessels under T'Mal's supervision. If you are viewed trying to escape or sabotage our ships, we will kill you. Not complying will also mean death," with that, he turned on his heel and walked towards the door. 

"Is it just me, or does he end everything he says with death threats?" Tom whispered. Kathryn shot him her best Captain's glare. 

"Do as he said," Kathryn said, walking towards one of the worse looking shuttles. 

Seven hours into their rebuilding mission, Kathryn emerged from the shuttle she was currently working on. Whipping her brow on her sleeve, she walked around the outside of the shuttle. Her shoulders ached from leaning over the burned console panel for the past hour, and a blinding headache had already spread behind her eyes. 

On the far side of the vessel, she found Tom, covered with splatters of black paint, wet brush in hand. She smiled at him and sank down beside him, absentmindedly rubbing her neck and forehead. 

"Taking a break?" Tom said, slipping down beside her. 

"I just can't seem to figure out why the sensor array won't come online. I practically took the entire relay system off-line, ran half a dozen diagnostics...nothing is working." 

"Maybe the panel is faulty. I watched you replace most of the components to it..." 

"That might be it..." She said, turning towards him. "You know, you have black paint all over your face...it almost reminds me of the time you tried your hand at painting in the Maestro's studio." 

Tom laughed lightly. "How could I concentrate with him always berating me?" 

Kathryn knit her brow together. "What _did_ you do?" 

He smiled. "He always asked me why I never came with you. Said you mentioned me a few times, in passing, of course...I suppose the Maestro wasn't good at keeping secrets." 

"Oh, I think he knew _exactly_ what he was doing," Kathryn said, laughing. 

"Really? Makes me wonder what Katarine told the Maestro about her Thomas." He said, eyes shimmering with a challenge. 

Kathryn smiled at him. Not one to step down from fight. She sobered for a moment. "I suppose I can't blame decorum this time." 

Tom looked away, clasping his hands together. "I think what I miss most about the ship is flying her. The way she responded to the lightest of touches, and purred in response to each movement I led her through. And then there is the holodeck...Fair Haven, Sandrine's, Captain Proton...Did I ever tell you that you looked _amazing_ in Queen Arachnia's costume?" 

"You might have mentioned it once or twice, but I could tell just by the expression on your face." 

"What I wouldn't give to be on the holodeck right now. You know, the 'good guys' always win in the movies." 

A long pause followed. Kathryn raised her knees towards her chest, sighing lightly. "I miss the feeling of control. I liked being able to have a say in how I lived my life...the ability to keep my crew alive and safe. Now, all I have is my conscience... and the knowledge that I killed them as surely as if I was the guard that did it." 

Tom sighed. They had been through this conversation before. Knowing that it would only turn into a repeating loop of mental flogging and self-loathing. He turned towards her, noting the way she was rubbing her neck. 

"Still getting headaches?" He said kneeling behind her. She sighed and leaned against him as he started to massage her scalp. 

"Sometimes this place is almost bearable." 

"You've got to be kidding. We've been working on these shuttles for hours now. I'm tired, hungry, and sore." 

"But you're alive and with me," she said quietly. 

A rather large guard turned the corner, and regarded the pair of them. "What are you two doing? Get back to work!" 

Tom got to his feet quickly, offering Kathryn his hand. "Do you think you could bring me one of those panels from the store room, Tom?" She said, showing him her badly blistered hands. 

He flashed her a look of concern, but nodded slowly. He disappeared behind a sea of black shuttles. Sighing, she walked back into the main cockpit. She slid beneath the open panel casing, housing the casing of the isolinear chips. 

"Just set the panel down in the back, Tom. I'll need it in a second..." 

She felt two large hands wrap around her ankles and pull her with force out from under the console. Yet another Kamien guard loomed her, snarling. She was caught unprepared for the blow to her head. 

"You are recallibrating the sensor array incorrectly. Your work is sloppy. You are not complying." 

He removed a large baton from his belt and began beating her about the back and shoulders. She threw her arms above her head to protect herself, but didn't make a sound. Instinct and experience told her that screaming would only encourage him. 

Growing more enraged, he drew a phaser from his belt and fired at the center of her chest. Pain spread through her chest like a thousand pin prick, then she lost all sensation in her arms and legs. She was, essentially paralyzed. Eyes wide with horror, she watched helplessly as he tore her uniform open and lowered himself towards the her. 

"Please, don't do this...," she whimpered. 

"You have to learn. Beating you has taught you nothing," he said. Kathryn's gag reflexes were fighting her. The smell of his breath and his body...the idea of what he was going to do made her ill. 

"Tom..." Kathryn whispered. She was barely able to see from the blood pouring down her face. 

Tom approached the guard cautiously from behind, swinging the heavy bulkhead fragment at the him. The shuttlebay echoed with the sound of cracking as the large object came in contact with the guard's head. A labored scream followed as the man fell backwards in agony. After dropping the fragment, Tom continued his assault, oblivious to everything but the anger surging in him. His muscles ignored the pain of the continuous strain they had been under as of late. All rational thought left him. Kathryn's face - her eyes wide with horror and the look of defeat on her face filled his mind. 

From a haze of pain, Kathryn watched as Tom beat the guard to death. Splatters of blood joined those of the black paint that were already dried onto his uniform. His face was flushed with exertion and hatred. His fists were bloody and his eyes...god his eyes seemed so distant. Is was as if she were watching a movie. It was just an actor that looked like Tom. Surely he would never kill a man with his bare hands... 

"Tom...," She moaned lightly. The familiar darkness was enveloping her again. 

Tom stood, for the first time noticing the pool of crimson on the ground at his feet, his hands and clothes bore the same liquid. His gaze went from the guard, whose face was unrecognizable, to Kathryn. His eyes filled with terror. She was so pale. 

In the distance, he could hear the footfalls of guards approaching. "Hang on, Kathryn," Tom said. His mind swirled with images of the last few seconds, analysis of his violent behavior the sight of Kathryn curled up against the shuttle bleeding. Swallowed hard, he forced himself to focus. Tom took on a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Think Paris, think." 

It was as beautiful as she remembered. Tall, proud, red beams of solid construction towering high above the water below. The ancient cables still connected between each section supporting the bridge together. Though not used today in a daily since, the Golden Gate Bridge was always quite a spectacle to see. Without a doubt, it was the best attributed landmark for San Francisco. Why she never really paid more attention to it, she didn't know. 

From her perch on the balcony of a somehow familiar apartment, she looked onto the ocean. The water was a deep blue. The air smelled of salt and the rose bushes, presumably from those that grew in small planters on balcony beneath hers. A man's arms gently wrapped around her waist. He buried his face in her hair, kissing her neck, nipping on her ear. 

He whispered his her name so lightly. It seemed like he was speaking from a great distance. 

"Kathryn, don't leave me...hang on, please...I need you here with me."   
  
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	4. Part IV

Modulation Part IV   
  
Modulation  
Sydney Alexis  


Rating: PG-13 

Notes: This is the fourth installment of the Modulation Series. If you haven't read the first three parts, I would suggest doing so.  Part IV 

Be it by some divine intervention or a stroke of pure inspiration, a solution came to mind. Tom raced to the front of the shuttle, locking onto the guard and beaming him into the mountains they had been forced to march through. They were covered with thick snow now, and would be next to impossible to navigate this far into winter. 

Having completed his task, Tom returned to Kathryn's side. She had lost consciousness by then. A sweet smile crossed her lips that made his heart sink. Only in dreams could any of them be that free... 

"Kathryn?" Tom whispered, tapping her shoulder lightly. "Kathryn? Come on. Wake up...please. I don't know how much time we have before they get back." Panic was setting into the recesses of Tom's mind. Given the number of beatings she had suffered, the severity of those blows, and the amount of blood she had lost, the idea that she might never regain consciousness gnawed at him. He never thought that she would face death like this; he had always imagined a grand battle or of old age. 

By the brusing on her arms, it was apparent that they had taken the brunt of the beating this time. Her right wrist was swelling. No doubt it was broken. 

"I need to splint your wrist. There was some small bulkhead fragments near that spare part pile in the back. I promise I'll be right back." 

For the first time in an expanse of minutes, Tom found himself alone, left to thoughts of what had just happened. Memories of violent outbreaks in his past resurfaced, but, in the past, this had all been for self defense. This, however, was murder. True, he was saving the captain...Kathryn's life, but he had lost control of himself. He clutched his eyes shut. The feeling of that guard bleeding out, begging for his life made him feel alive again, powerful, and in control for the first time in months. He finally truly understood why the Maquis had chosen to fight against the Cardassians. In that brief flash, he knew what it was like to hate someone to such depths. What scared him more than his actual actions was that he didn't regret it. Part of himself actually enjoyed watching the life drain from the guard's eyes. 

To be honest, he wanted them _all_ dead. From the first time Kathryn had returned from the first of many late night beating, he had wanted nothing more than to have a few moments alone with those guards. Instead he would stay with her, nurse the wounds he could, and beg her to stay with him. Many times he wondered how she had managed to make it through the night. Often, when he caught that defeated look in his eyes, he was reminded of how selfish he had been. He begged her to stay alive because she was the reason he kept living. Never did he imagine he would be able to carry out his thoughts...both good and bad until now...until this imprisonment. 

His mother had always said that it was necessary to find the silver lining to even the most abysmal of settings. Silver lining? He could only think of one. Kathryn... He had finally known what it was like to see her be herself. Granted, it had come at an extreme cost, but, at night, she would present herself to him, unguarded. In those moments between dusk and dawn, he fell in love with her all over again. 

Within the pile of fragments, he found two pieces of bulkhead that would suffice. Once he returned, he used those two pieces and torn strips from his uniform to make a splint for her wrist. 

Guards approached the pair. "What is the meaning of this?" 

"One of your guards attacked her. What do you think had happened?" 

"Have you completed work on this shuttle?" 

"No. We haven't. We were nearly done when one of _your_ men decided to attack her." 

The guard tilted his head. "Not complying will mean death. Finish up your work here, then we will return you to your cell." 

"Belay that order. You will return them to their cell _now,_" Tumeric said, appearing from behind Tom. 

"But, Sir, they have not finished." 

"They didn't finish because one of _your_ men injured her. Now, do as I tell you." 

Tom picked Kathryn's limp form up off the ground and carried her in his arms to the shuttle. Seven, Vorik, and Sam were already chained into place. 

The ride back to the encampment was exceptionally slow as the shuttle was moving on thrusters only. The warp drive finally gave out a quarter of the mile to the compound, forcing the prisoners to walk the remainder of the way. Tom never wavered once as he carried her down the steep slope. Humming lightly under his breath the last tune he could remember playing in Sullivan's the night before they were kidnapped... 

"Do you remember that night, Kathryn? I caught you talking to Maggie about me. You flushed as I approached. Always a sure sign that you were up to no good. I asked you what the pair of you were discussing and you said the weather. Maggie, thought, she set me straight. 'A strapping young man he is Katie. You have excellent taste.' You laughed and excused yourself no doubt to delete Maggie's memory before I could get the details out of her. You always thought of everything, didn't you?" 

"Lieutenant Paris, I fail to see how talking to the Captain is assisting her recovery," Seven said, walking beside him. 

"Well, I can't offer her medical attention because the second I stop to help her, they'll kill all of us," he said motioning towards the guards. "I just thought that speaking to her...letting her hear my voice, would keep her grounded." 

"You believe you are willing to the captain to survive?" 

Tom nodded slowly. "Not very scientific, but when everything else is taken away, hope is the only thing left." 

"Pandora? Really, Tom, you _are_ losing it," Sam said. 

"If you loose hope...faith...in the idea that we will get out of here, then they have already won."   
  
Home


	5. Part V

Modulation Part V   
  
Modulation   
Sydney Alexis  


Rating:PG-13 

I cannot provide an accurate count of the number of sections this piece will have. It grows on its own as the twists are brought to me by my own mental imbalance and suggestions given to me. This current twist I owe to Gilly's fabulous questions. May she always lead me astray. ;)   
  
Part V 

A long corridor extended before him. The walls were sparkling clean, painted a sterile white with bright beaming lights before each door. The spaces between them marked by deep shadows and yet he could find his way. He'd traveled this path countless times during his route. How lowly and miserable an existence his had become. To take care of a being he adored and abhorred at the same time. A small life devoid of all sin and yet created in it. Without consent or knowledge it came forth into this world, taking in breath just as its parents did. It was his job to care for it. Only that nothing more, but it made him feel unclean. He could have refused, but death would have come swiftly to those assigned to The Farm. 

He neared the next door along his route, pausing briefly to check the alien symbols above the door. It was a habit of his as nearly every corridor in all their buildings were startleing similar. The idea was to make a labyrinth so complicated no prisoner could find their way out. Losing his way and the confusion that ensued had forced him to witness objects and acts that he sincerely wished he could erase. They were called the 'trials'. G'Tol called them 'The Mistakes.' Beings never meant to be. Hideous disfigured creatures...monsters in a humanoid form that spoke... the ones that lived anyway. Those that didn't were preserved to study. The moaning and the stench of The Mistakes' hallways was something he avoided at all cost. It was irrational for him to fear them. He was, after all, a trained professional, but nothing within his subroutines prepared him for viewing beings that were little more than mounds of flesh that spoke, cried, wailed, and begged to be given their freedom. The ethical side of him could almost rationalize helping them seek their god, but doing so could mean his own people's demise. Faced with such decisions, he would find himself rushing past their cells quickly, praying they wouldn't hear him near. 

This hall, however, housed a different group. These were the final creations. The Wanted as they became known on The Farm. Now tiny vessels that could potentially destroy what his 'family' had fought so hard to protect. 

He stepped toward the door, waiting for the light above him to blink once and fade. A soft green illumination moved from the base of the door to the top and returned again. 

"Recognize-Prisoner AV-008, proceed, Doctor," A computer voice droned. It was just as sterile as the hallways he walked down every day. 

Slowly, the door to the main nursery slid open. Soft light billowing out into the darkened hallway, the Doctor could make out a lone figure in the shadows across the room. It was seated in a chair, holding a small bundle and rocking back and forth. The Doctor grabbed one of the medical tricorders and approached the silhouette. 

"She was removed from her status pod this morning," he explained. 

The Doctor looked down into the other man's arms and regarded the tiny being. "Subject GV-001. Mission Status, Success." It's tiny arm band read. 

"She appears to be alive and well, Mr. Neelix," The Doctor said, taking a brief scan. 

"I suppose it is only a matter of time now," the Talaxian said in a whisper. 

"Not necessarily. The number of species aboard Voyager will mean that their mission will take a bit longer than this." 

"They managed to unravel human DNA. How long until they figure out Vulcan, Bolian, or Talaxian?" 

"I wish I could tell you. We'll just have to wait and see." 

"Indeed, you will, Mr. Neelix. Until then, I remind you that noncompliance means death," G'Tol Kairon said, entering the nursery. The illumination in the room finally lighting his tall frame completely. G'Tol was a gazelle compared to others in his species. He was also of an extremely heavy build. His eyes were large, citrine orbs that resembled a cat's in this low lighting, and his hair was a light blond color. Pale, pasty white skin only assisted in making him appear ghoulish in appearance. In their culture, however, pale skin was looked upon as a sign of status. It meant that he spent little time outside to tan his skin; working outside was, after all, only for lower ranking officers. 

As far as the Doctor could tell, the Kamien's system of balance was preestablished before birth. Children of the common soldier were doomed to the same fate. Higher class members had their children genetically altered to either fill their position or another. At a young age, all were sent to learn what the Kamien considered basic skills: weaponry, combat skills, and survival techniques. Those in the upper brackets were also tought trade negotiation, torture tactics, astrometrics, and genetic science. Extended intelligence would give those in higher ranks a feeling of greater importance. A fact that they reminded every man beneath them at least once a day. G'tol was no different 

Genetically engineered and groomed from childhood for his position, he was assigned to head The Farm's main 'research' group, he also had a mind for persuasion. His methods of retaining higher work rates for those working under him were widely known. They boarded on cruelty, and he was not above both mental and physical torture. 

It was this extensive reputation that made even the Doctor flinch when the man neared. He'd autopsied some of the corpses that G'Tol left in sickbay. Bone, organs turned into a liquid state. Faces so badly distorted that it took a DNA sample to learn the person's identity. On a few rare occasions, the punished were his own men. Those were the worst of those send to him. Twisted limbs, fused spinal columns, even one that had had his heart removed while he was still alive. All of this because they did not comply. Not complying seemed to be a favorite saying on Kamien. 

As G'Tol approached, the Doctor stiffened. He attempted to cover his discomfort by setting his tricorder down on one of the biobeds near the rocking chair. 

"How are the subjects fairing?" 

"BV-003 is already nearing his crawling stage. Due to the acceleration concoxtion your men have created, I believe that, within a few hours, he will be walking. I would suggest having Mr. Tuvok start his sessions approximately two days from now." 

"Agreed. And subject BV-001?" 

"Still underweight. She doesn't sleep as much as the others. The similarities are amazing." 

"And what of GV-001?" 

"Would you please stop! They all have names," Neelix said, rising from his seat. 

"Yes, they do. The child you are holding is Beta Voyager 002 until further notice. We will not burden them with Terrain names until they are deemed The Replicas, understood?" 

G'Tol straigtened, letting the shadow of his figure loom over Neelix. Neelix turned slowly, returning the child to his cradle. Gray eyes stared up at him, blinked, and closed slowly. 

"I apologize, G'Tol Tumeric. I was out of line. There is just a great deal of research on human children that suggest having a sense of identity early on helps establish how they will develop into adults." 

G'Tol's face hardened briefly. "If it means so much to human development, Mr. Neelix, you may call them what you wish," he said, turning on his heal and walking out. 

Silence fell upon the pair of men as the Doctor crossed towards GV-001's crib. He lifted the small bundle into his arms and looked into her eyes. Deep blue eyes that seemed to gleam in response. Her small mouth drew up into a smile. 

"I think we should call her Hope." 

"Uh... Doctor, don't you think her parents should name her?" 

"We don't even know if they are still alive, Mr. Neelix. Besides, I can't just call her Gamma Voyager 001 for the next few years." 

This is how life was now. How their lives had become. The daily grind of waking up well before full sunrise, forcing stale bread into there ever empty stomachs, and marching onward towards the hours of laborious work that faced them. All that just to return to half a bowl of lukewarm broth that tasted vaguely of meat. It was a terrible flavor that, under normal circumstances, they would have pushed aside. After six months however, the taste of it was something they'd almost become immune to. Eating was no longer something to be enjoyed; it was to be endured. Every spoonful kept them alive. A prospect that was neither appealing nor unpleasant. However, the amount of food given was never enough. Stomachs long since gave up growling for more food. Instead, prisoners centered their attention on memories of home, escape, and, most importantly, staying alive. 

Hope was something they clinged to. Good news was so rare that it was often not believed. Roll call in the morning became a way to gauge numbers of friends lost during the previous few hours rather than just another few minutes before returning to work or their cell. Fewer and fewer people to count aloud; a testament to working conditions and the drive for freedom. More than anything the walls moved in on them. Faster and harder, crueler and more unforgiving than even Tom remembered them as being. Granted, Starfleet prisons- even living down that chute- were bad, but this... this was more than just survival. It was a slow and steady mind game... a test of wills... to see who would crumble first. The Kamien, however, were holding most of the cards. 

Had they been playing poker, most of the crew would have folded by now. Knowing that they couldn't out-bluff someone that had no intention of simply walking away. A few, however, were resistant to differing degrees. Despite all the killings and beatings, they continued on in the underground, working on a plan of escape. They were the most dangerous of all because they had adopted the idea of live free or die. 

Regardless of how jaded they had become, the group still cared about injured members. Rumors of the captain's maltreatment spread through the camp like most gossip. Well wishers saw to it Tom had what little they had to offer: spare bits of bread, an extra blanket smuggled out of the sewing factory, clean rags to tend to her wounds. 

Before dark had fallen, it began to rain. A soft steady stream that fell down in absolute silence. Tears from the Prophets, the Bajorians called them. It trickled down, off the roof of the building and formed in small pools at the base of the door. 

For the first time in almost six months, Tom saw his own reflection. It was an image that was anything but a man: long hair, untamed, knotted, and filled with white streaks; sagging skin; beard and mustache with streaks of gray in it; and hollow cheeks. It was, however, his eyes that caused him the greatest distress. The usual blue reflect back at him but they were unfocused. Sunken, unattached, they searched beyond the reflection to the memories of the past few months. 

His evolution from civilized man to an animal fighting to stay alive. It was that animalistic side that took over in that shuttle. Seeing her harmed was enough to drive any reason from his mind. Even as his mind told him it was wrong to kill, he edged onward. Blow after blow he watched the guards eyes bloody... felt the sticky liquid pooling out of his ears. All the while his own heartbeat thundered in his own. Tom could feel the bones and cartilage breaking...giving beneath his fists. He could hear the mans pleas, begging him to stop, but they only served to fuel his anger. He felt an inhuman surge of adrenaline at ever whimper. He lost since of time, feeling nothing but his energy draining from him. Empty, he slid away from the corpse that he was straddling and stood. His fists ached from their use. Dripping with deep crimson, he wiped them on his uniform and stepped over the guard's body to Kathryn's side. Never did he even think of his actions. Darwin's theory put into practice among his own kind. 'The weak shall perish,' 8472 had said. They were right, in some cases. In others, stronger minds with even stronger wills found ways to try and escape. Refusing to see all the dangers or, rather, ignoring them, they pressed on to try and seek freedom. Others were less fortunate to be drawn down a spiral towards mental breakdown. Some programmed into the routine set aside for them by the Kamien, and others trapped within their own mind, unwilling to face reality. 

While he was of strong mind and will, Tom was unwilling to seek escape within his own mind. As one of the remaining senior staff, he didn't have that luxury. Tuvok, Chakotay, even Neelix disappeared after the Kamien did the first roll call. Rumors of their death circulated quickly. Seven never really held a rank. B'Elanna and Harry were killed trying to tunnel out. That left himself and Kathryn. By default, he was currently running things until she healed. It was his job to keep morale up. A thought that was almost laughable. To say that he was dying inside might be cliché, but it was exactly how he felt. 

He could remember a time when he used his rank, days from drinking, and the number of friends he had to measure his accomplishments. Drinking... he'd always struggled with it. Since his misspent youth, he'd turned to it rather than facing emotions. Once on Voyager, he had depended on his friends to keep him from that path. Now, in this cell, part of him yearned for a shot. The burning it left in its wake. The slight buzz it caused. Then another... and another... forgetting how many times his hand held the large, cool glass in his hands as his wrist dipped the neck of the bottle towards the shot glass. By the time his aim was slightly off, the bottle would be drained. But the smell and the first sip... how his body would shake. Giddy at the knowledge of what was to come. The following morning, the headache and the nausea were more sensations to latch on to, giving him something to ignore his pain and remind him that he was still alive. 

The quiet of the cell left him nothing to do but contemplate the day. In a few hours, he had thrown away his humanity. He'd taken a life for a life. There was no question that the guard wouldn't have injured Kathryn, but he had killed the guard with his bare hands. No part of him even considered stopping, even after the man had lost consciousness. And, with the level headed thinking of a cold blooded murder, he had disposed of the main evidence - the body. 

Sighing, Tom sat against the back of their cell, supporting himself against the wall. His vigil had started hours ago. Her fever spiked early in the evening. Using the rain to dampen cloths, he wiped the sweat away from her brow. Determination to keep her alive was what kept him going through his exhaustion. If her condition worsened during the night and he wasn't awake to help her, he would never forgive himself. 

He returned to watching the rain fall into the small puddle. Tiny droplets that caused the water to ripple. The moonlight cast through the window above him lighting the room. From his perch, he was able to see Kathryn's breathing had grown shallow. She was beginning to stir from her sleep. 

"It's raining," she whispered. 

"How are you feeling?" Tom asked, moving towards her. 

"Like an elephant sat on me," she said, laughing. "How did we get back here?" 

"G'Tan Tumeric had us brought back after it happened. Sort of. The transporter's engine failed a ways from here. I had to carry you." 

"Captain Proton to the rescue," she groaning in pain as she tried to sit up. 

"Careful. I had a time splinting that wrist." 

She turned to look at him, eyes searching his for an asked question. 

"Without a medical tricorder, I can't really be sure of how bad the injures are," he said, sitting down beside her. "Some of the smaller bones in your wrist were probably fractured, a lot of bruising, fairly high temperature, and it's highly likely there is some head trauma. He did beat your head against the bulkhead before I could get to you." 

"That would explain the headache." 

"Do you remember any of it?" 

"Bits and pieces. I remember you over me, saying something and then you were gone...," she said, reaching up to touch the gash he'd received during the struggle. "Are you all right? What happened to the guard?" 

"I...I'm fine. Don't worry about the guard." 

"Tom, when he wakes up..." 

"He isn't going to wake up, Kathryn." 

She looked him evenly in the eye. "Have they had roll call yet?" 

"No." 

"Then we have a few hours to escape...before they find him missing." 

"You're in no condition to move. Don't worry; they aren't going to find him." 

"Tom..." she warned. 

"I beamed him into the mountains. No one will know where he went until summer thaw. That's at least five months from now." 

"I don't plan on being here five months from now. We have to find a way out. 'Live free or die.' If we don't find a way out of here soon, we'll all be dead by then." 

To be continued...   


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	6. Part VI

Modulation Part VI P { font: 12pt, arial; color MidnightBlue; } A.second { font: 12pt, arial; color SlateBlue; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; } H1 { font: 30pt, Vivaldi, papyrus, Edwardian Script ITC, Arial; color : SlateBlue; text-align : center; line-height: 1pt; } H2 { font: 20pt, Vivaldi, papyrus, Edwardian Script ITC, Arial; color Purple; text-align: center; } H3 { font: 15pt, book antiqua, arial; color MidnightBlue; pont-weight: bold; text-align:center; } HR { colorMidnightBlue }   
  
Modulation  
Sydney Alexis  


Rating: PG-13 

Disclaimer: If I owned them, I would be wealthy. 

Archive: Only with permission of the author 

Inspired by Brahms' _Requiem_ Mass Part VI 

Within a darkened room, one of many board rooms within the Industrial Order's Administration building, sat seven men at one table. G'tan Kairon at the head, was the chairman of The Gathering committee. The success of the Kamien people rested squarely on his shoulders, and it was not something that he took lightly. 

The six other men seated around the massive steel table wore the same black cloaks he did. Standard fare for these types of meetings, it protected their identity from the Kamien media. Like every culture, there were a few that felt their methods of gathering needed items from other worlds was unjust. Of course, few in the private sector knew of the existence of The Yard or The Farm. Regardless of what the others thought of him, he knew those on his world would die of starvation if he wasn't willing and able to complete his work was well as he did. 

To G'tan's right, sat his top aid and best advisor. One of the few men that he trusted with his life, Talken was privy to more than any other member of the board. Engineered to be of political, military, and civilian mind, he was able to perceive problems from all three sides. Talken's suggestions had proven invaluable over the years. 

To the chairman's immediate left, sat Chief Liaison to the Industrial Order, Gepek. Best described as a slimy weasel, the man did everything within his power to undermine the authority that G'tan exuded over this board. The remaining seats went to two military advisors who aided in capturing new detainees as well as selecting them and a media consultant who was responsible for cover up anything that would show the Industrial Order in a negative light up to and including The Yard, The Farm, and invasions of other world. In all, the committee on The Gathering had succeeded on maintaining the quality of life on Kamien without their knowledge for over two hundred years. With a new way of running the process though, the group was forced to bring in an eight member- a geneticist who was working on the Voyager Project. 

Drummed his fingers on the Great Hall's table, G'tan sat, growing more impatient with each passing moment. Knowing the action irritated the others gave him some satisfaction. After all, he didn't like to be kept waiting-especially by a junior officer. This mere boy's life would be forfeit for taking such time to arrive, but this report was too important not to wait for. The information needed to be precise, and the officer in question was invaluable. Given the level of genetic sequencing and extensive background training alone, it would take four years to get a new worker to that same level. Time was precious on Kamien ground especially with the Industrial Order's Administration keeping such a close eye on this project. 

The door creaked open slowly, and a slender young man was deposited before the committee by two armed guards. The junior officer removed his cap and tried to smooth down his hair before entering the room fully. 

"You...you sent for me, sir?" A quivering voice intoned. Half question and half statement, the chairman stood from the massive chair at the head of the table and made his way toward the boy. Placing the flat of his hand on the boy's back, he guided him towards the front of the room. 

"Tanari, is it?" The young man nodded in return. 

"Tanari, I was fortunate enough to read your report before this meeting. Would you be kind enough to summarize it for the rest of the board." 

"Yes, sir, G'Tol, sir. In my weekly update to his high worship, G'tan Kairon, I summarized this weeks activities on The Yard and Farm. Among them: the introduction of our newest detainees, the Exul, to the agricultural cultivation workforce; the successful take-over of the Tavener with a crew compliment of 1,793; The Wilbye mission of recovery and depletion is complete..." 

"Get to the Voyager crew," Tumeric bellowed. 

Tanari paused, running a hand through his short hair. "Two of the main species on Voyager- the Human and Vulcans- have been successfully reproduced. The first offspring of those individuals has also been brought underway. According to the Humanoid Holographic Projection, all children are healthy. Within the week, we will be able to determine if they are The Replicas or not." 

"Do you conquer with The Doctor's findings?" 

"Yes, G'tan, sir." 

"And their developmental progress?" A board member voiced. 

"As you know, our technology is not fully compatible with these Humanoids. Thus, the maturation injections have to be given every other week rather than once a day. The first Vulcan male that was released from the pods is already walking." 

"And the female, BV-001?" G'tol inquired. 

"She is still relatively young. Both The Doctor and Mr. Neelix assured me that Human children develop at different paces regardless of the amount of maturation serum we inject them with." 

"Wouldn't the chambers speed up the process?" The Ambassador asked. 

"No," Tanari said, shaking his head. "The chambers are antiquated technology. They only work on simpler species." 

"And how are you going to handle the creation of BV-009?" One of the military advisors spoke. 

"The Borg? Yes. That one we have a full laboratory working on. It may take as much as salvaging a Borg Cube to integrate her in," Tanari replied. 

"Couldn't you just write her off?" The Ambassador asked, leaning back in his chair. "The Industrial Order is growing weary of the length of time you suggest this will take." 

"Her interaction with the crew is one that Janeway spoke a great deal about in her logs. I'm not sure that 'writing her off' is such a good idea. It would mean entering it into all of their logs. Writing a convincing personal log of Janeway is not something I think that our men would be able to do as writing style is hard to copy," Talken, G'tan's aid responded, ignoring the ambassador's threat. 

"And what of piloting this ship? We will need to make sure Paris' copy is just as capable as he is," The second military advisor questioned 

"I conquer," G'tan said. "I suggest bringing him in to train the boy." 

"What of Janeway? We had had plans to...," Talken started, but cut his thought short when G'tan silenced him with an upraised hand. 

"Hush, Talken. That need not concern these men," he said, then turning towards Tanari, "Have them both brought into The Farm without anyone's knowledge. Wait until there is a reason for them to disappear though. Yesterday's incident at the shuttle repair station caused enough of a stir that the crew would notice if they went missing. Wait a few weeks and then collect them. Perhaps it would be a good test for your favorite assistant..." 

"That might not be as simple as you suggest, G'tan Kairon," The Ambassador said, leaning forward once again. "My informants have said there is unrest amongst the guards. Kenoshia will be punishing the crew this afternoon at Tumeric's request." 

"Lead guard Kenoshia and Tumeric seem to have forgotten their place. I told them to extend the length for this group until further notice. At the rate the crew is dying, there won't be any left for the third phase," G'tan replied, pausing a moment. "Contact Tumeric. I'd like to have a word with him. Mr. Talken, I would like both you and your new assistant to be on call in case he's already overstepped his bounds. Dismissed." 

The familiar howl of the alarm called them to roll call that morning. Kathryn came out, heavily leaning against Tom for support. As predicted, Tumeric climbed the small execution platform before the group to address them. 

"As you may or may not know, one of our guards is missing. While only a few of you were even on the shuttle maintenance crew yesterday, I believe that one of you might have heard the others speaking. That makes you all guilty. Now, I demand that one of you tell me where he is. You have thirty seconds to comply." 

Silence fell upon the group. Eyes roving the crowd for answers. Some were pleading. Some angry. All knew what would happen next. 

"Your time has expired, and so have two of you. Captain Janeway, I will let you choose. Pick two numbers." 

Squaring her shoulders, she stared up at the figure that loomed above them. His shadow was cast across the group as the sun rose from behind the mountains. 

"No," she replied evenly. 

"No?" He repeated, mocking her tone. "No, huh? Seize her and her cell mate and bring them up here." 

Tom and Kathryn were drug up the thirteen steps above the assembled crew. It was a familiar path she had taken before. Part of the labor she was assigned was to cut the dead down from the rafters and transport their corpses to the crematorium. This time, she took each step with purpose. Ignoring the pain and refusing Tom's help she stood before her crew proud for the first time in months. Today she would die with what was left of her dignity intacted. 

"Prepare them," he yelled at Kenoshia who had followed them up the steps. 

This was but a sick show that Tumeric put on. Like a peacock all too willing to show off his plumage, he would strut around the stage, laughter echoed through the compound, he yelled nonsense a the group in an attempt to upset those that were still not to numb that they felt each death. 

Casting a glance towards the pair, Tumeric smiled with evil satisfaction at seeing them teetering precariously above the ground. All that was left to do was draw the lever back. Using the quiet of the moment, he lapsed into a sermon about respect. More to hear his own voice than anything else. 

Tom reached out, grabbing hold of Kathryn's hand. "This almost seems like a scene from an old B-movie I used to watch in the holodeck. You wouldn't believe the line I have rattling around in my head. 

"Oh?" 

"If I have to go, I would rather die with you," he whispered. 

Kathryn squeezed his hand and sighed. "It would have been nice...," she said, after a brief pause. 

"What?" 

"All the stories you told me. It would have been nice if it really happened." 

Tom was silent when he looked at her. A sadness colored his face. 

"Tell you what; you get us out of this and you might just get lucky," Kathryn added, smiling. 

Tom laughed bitterly, turning to look at her. "Guess we cheated death one too many times," she added. 

"Never know. Buster Kincaid could always come crashing through The Yard wall," Tom replied, squeezing her hand. "There's something that I've been meaning to tell you. Guess now would be the best time...I..." 

"And now you will remember the power of the Kamien people," Tumeric said, striding towards them and pulling the lever. 

The gallows, having not been built properly, did not kill either on impact. There, dangling from the ropes, they watched the faces of the crew go grim. The need to breathe again was powerful. Such a small amount of air was sifting through her windpipe that Kathryn felt lightheaded. Tom's hand slacken within hers. Casting a glance towards him, she noted that his body had gone limp. Realization was enough, she stopped struggling. 

"What is the meaning of this?" G'tol Kairon called, nearing the center of the compound. He drew a phaser from his belt and fired at each rope. Both bodies fell unceremoniously to the wooden decking. 

"My Lord, they refused to divulge the location of the missing guard. I dealt with the situation as I usually do." 

"And in doing so you violated a direct order from a superior officer. Return to the guard tower...both of you. _Now_," G'tol said, evenly. 

"But, sir..." 

"Are you questioning me, Tumeric? I could have you killed for less." 

"No, sir," he said, turning on his heel and walking quickly towards the tower. Kenoshia quickly fell into step behind him. 

A low mumble broke out about the crowd. Never had they witnessed any of their crew being protected. They had also never seen another soldier standing up to Tumeric's tirades. Watching in stunned silence, they watched the tall, pale leader raise wrist towards his face and speak into it in whispered tones. Moments passed before he turned to regard the small group. 

"Carefully carry the captain and Mr. Paris into their cell then return to your work stations. If any guard questions why you are late, tell them to contact G'tol Kairon. You are dismissed." 

Kathryn awoke to find a small Kamien leaning over her, scanning her with what appeared to be a Starfleet issue medical tricorder. She moved to sit up and place distance between them, but the man placed his free hand on her torso to stop her. 

"Please, Captain, be careful. Your injuries are still healing." 

"Who are you?" She managed to say, her voice still raspy. 

"My name is Tanari. I am a doctor. G'tan Kairon asked me to treat both of you as he disapproved of Kenoshia's choice to execute you." 

"How considerate of him." 

"I suggest you limit the amount that you speak within the next few hours. I managed to heal your larynx, but it will be tender for a few days; your vocal folds are swollen. Mr. Paris, on the other hand, will not be able to speak for at least two days as it could cause permanent damage." 

Kathryn nodded in response. "I was also able to heal most of your older wounds. You will, however, have a number of scars. The dermal regenerator salvaged from Voyager wasn't able to repair the superficial damage to the dermal layers on your arms and back," he said, pausing. "It is obvious that you must have been through many beatings," Tanari added. 

"You say that as if you regret it." 

"I am a doctor first, Captain. My duty is to heal, but I cannot ignore the needs of my people over the lives of those that have no ties to me. Ethical standards must also be put aside because standing up against G'tan would mean my death." 

"Surely you can look over what is left of my crew while you are here," Kathryn started. 

"I am afraid not. Not medically anyway. I can, however, have your food rations increased. Good evening," he said, rising. 

"Thank you," Kathryn said, meeting his eye sight. 

"You're welcome," Tarani said, exiting the cell. "Take care, Captain of Voyager." 

G'tan Kairon and his aid, Talken, sat behind his massive desk. Before them, amid the massive gray slab walls, were rows of screens- each one devoted to a separate area of The Yard and Farm. The current location that was enlarged in the center was that of the Captain and Tom's cell. She was kneeling on the ground beside him, wordlessly running the palm of her hand over his cheek. 

"What do you make of the captain's relationship with Paris?" G'tan asked. 

"If you believe that I was in error in choosing to pair them in their cell..." 

"You jump to conclusions, Talken. I was merely asking what you thought of their relationship. From every personal log that I have read of hers, she seems to have this great underlying message that starting a relationship with anyone on her ship would not only be against decorum, but it would complicate things to the point that she would be unable to focus on her duties." 

"Humans are an emotional species. However, I believe that the captain was more worried about having to choose between two people that she cared about once again. The devastation that she spoke of at the loss of both Justin and her father was alarming. To slip into such a path of depression..." 

"Do you think that that is why she clings to Paris? As a way to keep herself grounded." 

"That is a possibility, my Lord. To reach out to the only person that she is physically able to as it were. However, she has not passed that final boundary like some of the others have. In that regard, she stills keeps her place in perspective." 

"Would she cling to Paris in that manner if she felt that her life depended on it?" 

"They have a codependent relationship. We both witnessed that while they hung on the gallows. While an unexpected test, it certainty has proven that her emotional well being does rely on Tom Paris to some extent." 

"I always pictured her as independent though..." 

"You have to realize that she has been stripped of everything that she holds dear. A single-minded mission to get her crew home is all that she worked towards for all those years. Now that she is free of that, I believe that, when she realizes there is no escape, she will become distraught." 

"And Paris...has he reached this level of acceptance?" 

"On one level, Tom Paris wishes what his captain does- escape. Yet another level exists where he does not want this to end as he feels a relationship developing between the two of them." 

"But do you think that he loves her?" 

"That I cannot be certain of. On many levels, yes, but I am not convinced that the feelings he has are solely love and not the appearance of love as his mind perceives it. Spending as much time as they have in a survival mind set could be the catalyst. He might see a relationship as the only way to survive even if it be through a child." 

"Tom would accept a child but the captain would not?" 

"That is something I am not sure of. She responded well to Naomi and yet there is extensive log entries in which she struggles with the idea of raising a family while running a ship. In the end, she usually came to the conclusion that the child would distract her too much from her final goal. One could argue that, because there is no longer a long term goal..." 

"Talken, you are starting to sound like that damned Vulcan," G'tan said, turning back towards the screen. Paris had woken by this time and was writing questions to the captain within the dirt of their cell. A closer view of the camera lens showed Kathryn was relying Tanari's visit in full detail. 

"When do you think they will be ready?" 

"Soon. A few weeks at most. I would like to see how they interact with the crew if given preferential treatment. Jealousy, as I am told, is a powerful emotion among humans." 

"Do you have anything in mind, Talken?" 

"Typically our prisoners are grouped by sex and marched to disinfection once a week, correct?" 

"Yes. That is standard procedure." 

"Why not allow each of them their own time. A new uniform as well. Something to make them feel guilty and their crew mates jealous of them. It will also give us the opportunity to remind Janeway of her former status. This will help determine if she has broken ties to her old life." 

"Due to the incoming winter and your frail body design, you have been assigned to new posts for the duration of the winter months," Tumeric said from his vantage point above the crew. The locations are those which are indoors. Just because of the change does not mean that we will be making things any easier on you. The same level of work is expected. And, despite the current rumors, I _am_ still in charge of The Yard, understood?" 

In the early morning hours, the crew below clung to the flimsy blankets that they had wrapped around their shoulders. As they listened to Tumeric speak, each could make out the thin cloud of vapor as they breathed. 

"Kenoshia will read your new assignments," Tumeric said, walking towards the guard tower. 

"Shuttle Maintenance: Joe Carey, Thomas Paris, Seven of Nine, Vorik, Carl Brahms; Sewing Factory: Kathryn Janeway, Samantha Wildman, Naomi Wildman..." 

As Kenoshia read the list, the gathered into the appropriate lines. Single file, they stood shivering until each of the remaining fifty or so were divided accordingly. Sam and Naomi stood behind Kathryn. 

"Seems like you'll be working the sewing machines with us," Sam whispered. 

"Are you in for a treat. I tried to learn how to use one of those things _once_," Kathryn said, laughing. 

"It's not as hard as it looks, Captain. I can teach you." 

"You've been working in the factories the whole time?" 

"Yes. They noticed that I had a talent for it and were pleased at my output so they kept me there. Naomi is a great assistant. She collects new bobbins, thread, and fabric for those on the alley floor." 

"I wonder why they chose to place me in the sewing factory instead of on shuttle maintenance," Kathryn wondered aloud. 

"There is rumors that Joe picked up from one of the guards that Tumeric ordered you and Tom be placed on different work details." 

"March," a voice bellowed. 

Onward through the snow covered ground, the line moved towards the waiting factory. Once inside, they were shackled to their machines and permitted only a few moments to get acclimated. Kathryn removed her shawl and shook her hair to rid of the snowflakes that still clung to her hair. 

"Where is the on switch for this thing?" Kathryn said, looking over at Sam. the younger woman laughed. 

"It uses a foot pedal, Captain. There is no on switch." 

Three weeks later... 

The sewing machine before her hummed loudly as she pushed the heavy fabric beneath the needle. The texture of the cloth was like canvas only much thicker. The difficult part was applying the proper amount of pressure to the pedal so that it sewed but didn't snag. 

In the early days, Kathryn found herself having to stop mid-seam just to untangle the thread from the needle. Sam watched her in her peripheral view, chuckling as she watched her commanding officer's shoulders square in anger. For her part, Sam was a near expert at the machine. She was able to finish four uniforms per hour to Kathryn's one per day. 

"I really am beginning to hate this foul little machine," Kathryn whispered to Sam. 

"Shh...you'll upset it." 

"It?" Kathryn repeated skeptically. 

"You talked to Voyager and believed it understood you. What's so different?" 

"The two are totally separate things. Voyager was a complex...," she started. 

"Machine," Sam finished. 

Kathryn raised the needle and snipped the thread after finishing the latest seam. She reached for the next piece. "Point taken." 

"Looks like it's almost lunch time," Sam said, motioning to the placement of the first sun. 

"Let me guess. Weak broth, a slice of bread, and a cup of brown water." 

Sam laughed and continued on. "Think you can manage your machine on your own? I'm being moved to the looms after lunch." 

Kathryn's gaze went from her work to meet Sam's. "The looms? Are you sure?" 

"Yeah. I'm sure," she replied, tucking a strand behind her ear. "They need someone else since the last...accident." 

"Sam, that was more than an accident," Kathryn said, her glance being drawn towards the room upstairs. "That girl was scalped... they let her bleed to death on the floor." 

"It was only because she had such long hair. She got too close to the mechanism. I just have to be careful." 

"Why move you? You're one of the best they have in here..." She thought aloud. 

"Don't know," Sam said, shrugging. 

There was a long pause in the conversation. Neither one willing to break the silence. The looms were one of the most dangerous places to work within the encampment. Since their arrival, twenty three people had been killed in that room. Most of them bled to death from injuries they received from the equipment. The cutting implements usually got stuck, and the guards wouldn't shut the power off. Thus, a sacrifice was sent into the machine to push the blade up and remove the bunched fabric. In most cases, they weren't able to move in enough time to avoid the razor-sharp cutting blade that came whirling down. 

"Captain..." Sam started. 

Kathryn smiled. Sam was one of the few people that had insisted on calling her by her title since their stay here stretched into months. She and Harry... 

"Yes?" 

"If I...if I don't make it out of that room one of these days, promise me you'll look after Naomi." 

"You didn't have to ask," Kathryn replied in a whisper. 

"Twenty minutes to lunch. Finish up your work," one of the guards bellowed. 

Mid-afternoon slowly turned into evening. Kathryn sat in the main sewing alley, working on her latest uniform. This time, a lead guard's from the Industrial Order. Her attention was divided though. She kept gazing at the seat beside her and the door to the loom room. Sam had only been in there for a few hours. Of course, her place had already been taken. This time, by a Kazon. He stared at her for sometime, anger evident on his face. 

"You are Captain Janeway, aren't you?" 

"Yes," she replied, quietly. 

"How long have you been here?" 

"Too long...a few months. I couldn't tell you. We arrived when the weather was still fairly warm." 

"My commander will never allow himself to be captive. It is a matter of pride." 

"Where is he?" 

The Kazon, no more than a boy of ten, pointed with his shackled arm towards the stairs. "He is making cloth, but he will never allow this to continue." 

Kathryn narrowed her eyes, a bad feelings stirring inside her. "What do you mean?" 

The boy merely smiled. "It was told to us that, when one plans an escape, all members of that cell block die." 

"That's true." 

"We are all on the same cell block," the boy explained. 

"No..." Kathryn whispered, realization setting in. She stood, yelling for the guards, but it was too late. The purple warning klaxons on the walls began blinking, a shrieking sound filled the room. 

She cast her eyes up the stairs, watching as gray smoke billowed out from the loom room. Dread filled her as she saw flames just behind the glass of the door. 

"The building's on fire!" Someone yelled behind her. 

Guards scurried around the room, running towards the exit. Prisoners began to scream as they were struggled to break free of their shackles. 

"We have a good five minutes before the room fills with too much Carbon Monoxide," Kathryn murmured. She reached up into the casing on her sewing machine and removed the needle, using it to pick the lock of her manacles. By now, she was coughing from the smoke. Her chest felt heavy, and the flames were dancing down the wooden staircase. Large beams from the ceiling began falling into the alley. Turning, she saw a phaser one of the guards dropped. Smiling at her luck, she grabbed it and began freeing prisoners in the alley. 

"Get these people to safety," she said to Naomi as she fired on her chains. The little girl nodded and took off towards the door to help people out. 

Kathryn turned towards the stair, her chest burning, coughing violently, she darted towards them. Cautious to avoid falling debris, she made it to the landing and the door... what was left of the door. 

"Sam," she called. 

A faint moan in the corner. She turned to see a guard beneath a large panel. 'To hell with him' she thought. 

"Sam!" 

From the distance, she heard a weak response. "Captain..." 

The room was engulfed in red and orange flames. It roared louder than she remembered. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. Her inner voice yelling at her to escape...that rescue was crazy. She, of course, ignored it. Stumbling forward, arms in place to protect herself. She crawled on her hands and knees towards the sound, trying to keep low for breath. Just a few more feet, she thought to herself. 

Samantha Wildman lay in the corner, curled up beneath a fallen weaving machine panel. Too heavy to lift off of her, Kathryn fired away with her phaser until just the area around Sam was left. 

"I'm going to lift this, but I need you to crawl out from underneath." 

A muffled sound her reply, Kathryn lifted up the corner. Arms trembling under the weight, her skin became singed by the super-heated metal. Sam scurried out from under the fragment, half screaming from the pain of a broken leg. 

Kathryn let the debris fall back to the floor with a thunderous crack. She suppressed a scream as it pulled the top layers of her charred flesh with it. Turning towards Sam, she noticed the jagged wound it had caused. It was already bleeding badly. Kathryn tore off the fabric of Sam's left pant leg to expose the entire wound. Using that same fabric, she tied a bandage to the wound. 

"We've got to get out of here. Can you make it to the door?" 

Sam nodded lightly and eased herself up using the remainders of the loom machine. Kathryn put the other woman's arm around her neck and helped her towards the door, avoiding the fiery debris that fell the best they could. 

The heat was intense and unrelenting. Sweat poured from every pore and yet her body was shivering. Hyperthermia was setting in... she could feel the palms of her hands blistering from contact with the metal frame that pinned Sam. No doubt she wouldn't be able to work for weeks..._if_ the guards let her live. 

Limping under the weight of the support she had to give Sam, they reached the landing to find the stairway had been obliterated by the fire. Kathryn felt her heart sink. It was the only escape from the building. Below them, stretching out through the entire alley were flames and the remains of sewing machines. Fallen beams blocked the only exit, and the landing beneath them was buckling under the fire's wrath. There was no visible path of escape. 

Tom was being fast-walked back from shuttle maintenance with a small group. They slowly climbed the last hill before the encampment was visible when he first saw the plumes. Black smoke swirling through the atmosphere like a cancer spreading through a body. As he reached the crest, his fears increased. Before him stood a towering inferno that was once the uniform factory. Billows of smoke poured from every crease in the ceiling the fire had cut. Flames shot through them as well, each like a tower growing higher with the explosion of machine fuel. Orange, red, yellow, and some white hot flames slowly worked to envelope the factory. Eating, replicating, spreading, it lurked through like a quiet killer. The small warning sounds of creaking wood followed by large sections of the roof flying through the air. Madden screams of the workers as they dashed away in terror. In the center of it all, little Naomi stood, staring at the building. Her eyes were wide in terror. 

Forgetting his place and the dangers of stepping out of line, Tom raced towards the child. His heart pounding in his ears. "Kathryn!" came his piercing cry. Eyes training themselves against the night, searching for her silhouette against the flames. Faster he pushed his body. He legs screaming in pain, but were ignored. His lungs ached from shrieking her name. Finally, he arrived by Naomi's side. A haunted look grew in the little girl's face. Terror from visions a child should never witness. 

"Mommy and the Captain never came out," she whispered. 

The factory's walls were beginning to fail. Still, Tom moved forward towards the glowing mass. A hand grabbed his shoulder to stop him. A rough voice whispered from behind. "_Kyrie Eleison_," Somewhere, somehow, he recalled the phrase. Thousands of years later and still whispered in this affront. 

Tom sank to his knees. The snow seeping into the thin cloth of his pants. Too numb to notice the biting cold. "If _your_ Lord has mercy, why are we still here?" he replied. 

"There was a window...near the rear machine. It was used to keep the machines cool in the summer," Sam said between coughs. 

"Come on," Kathryn replied. 

As quickly as possible, both stumbled through the blaze towards the back of the room. Two windows, almost too narrow in width stood on the far corners of the room. The fire had long since broken the panes. Each had flames crawling up the wall and out the window. 

"There's no way. We'll be burned alive," Sam warned 

"I'd rather die trying then die in this dump." 

Kathryn helped Sam towards the window, using a rag to clear the remaining glass shards away. "Jump down, be sure to block your face with your hands. Tuck you legs under and roll away from the building in case you're injured. I'll follow once I see you're out of the way." 

"Aye, Captain," Sam said, jumping through the window. "I'll see you down there, ma'am." 

Kathryn nodded, watching the younger woman do as she was told. From her perch, she saw onlookers rush towards her. Biting her lower lip, she dashed towards the window and did the same. 

Naomi was the first to see it. The single figure falling from the window. Some of the crowd raced towards the object, but Tom found he couldn't move. Fearful of what he might find, his legs refused to take any action. 

Screams followed. Air caught in his lungs, tears streaming from his cheeks, he raced towards them when called. _Please let it be her._ He repeated it in his mind a hundred times over until it sounded more like a benediction than a thought. 

His steps were slow and methodical. Mentally preparing himself for whatever he might find. Half praying that if one had to perish it wouldn't be Kathryn. The figure before him had a leg twisted at an odd angle, badly burned legs, arms and face... finally he allowed himself to see her. Blonde hair...it was Sam. 

"Help me carry her away from the building," he said evenly. 

"Captain Janeway is still up there. She said she'd follow me," the blackened creature murmured as they pulled her a safe distance from the fire. 

A pause...a lifetime...he felt his heart beat twice as fast when he saw her falling from the window. She landed a few inches from Sam's landing space with a slight groan exiting her lips. 

"Kathryn," he heard himself whisper as he approached. 

The crowd of prisoners returned to help him carry her towards the clearing. 

The night wore on as he tended to injures. Ashes, crimson of blood with the white snow that fell on the rows of wounded. The end result was a blanket tainted red and black. 

"Seven," Tom called out. The blonde approached quickly and stooped next to the captain. "I'll need someone to bury Kathryn under the snow. It will stop the burns from getting any further into her skin. I'll also need some water...boiled and warm. See if you can find any thread and a needle too. Be sure to boil them." 

"A crude but effect method," she said, standing. With a nod towards Tom she moved to Naomi. "I'll need your assistance." 

Naomi lifted her glance from her mother's wounds to the towering figure beside her. She inclined her head and followed Seven across the snow. 

Tom moved from Kathryn to Sam. He smiled at her as he checked her pulse. 

"You're going to be okay. Just hang in there." 

"The captain?" 

"She's got some pretty bad burns, but she can wait for now." 

He untied and lifted the bandage off. "This wound is pretty nasty. I'm going to have to clean it out." 

Naomi returned with a small dish filled with warm water. She handed it to Tom and smiled weakly at her mother. Tom turned to the guard nearest them. 

"I'm going to need a blade...a knife or a piece of metal." 

The guard gave him an incredulous look which Tom disregarded. "I need it to help her. If I was going to stab you with it, I would have to get close enough to do it. You'd all have ample time to shoot me." 

With a grunt of agreement, he pulled a long dagger from his left boot and handed it to Tom handle first. 

"Naomi, take this to Seven and tell her to put it in the fire until the tip is glowing." 

After the girl had ran off, he turned his attention back to his patient. "Sam, I need you to listen to me. I'm going to flush the wound with this water. 

It was almost laughable. The progression of medical science that Tom studied out of curiosity would come in handy. Early human medicine was archaic at best. The lack of cleanliness and sterilization...it was a wonder mankind lived as long as they had. 

Lifting her leg so that it was bent at the knee, Tom poured the water over her wound, allowing it to cascade down into it. Sam ground her teeth to stop herself from screaming. The pain was intense. As he worked, Seven returned with the super-heated blade and the needle and thread. 

"I'm going to use this to cauterize the veins in your leg to stop the bleeding. When I finish, I'll have to stitch you up with thread. Do you understand?" 

She signaled her understanding, eyes wide with disbelief. 

"Seven, I need you to hold her down while I do this." 

Seven knelt down by Sam's head, holding her arms in place. When she was in position, Tom gave one last glance to his patient. 

"There's more than one spot." 

A pause followed and then he lowered the metal to her reddened flesh. Tiny tendrils of smoke rose, the smell of seared meat, and the screams of a wild animal filled the air. Her voice stopped short when he pulled the tip up. Again he brought it down before she had time to recover. Her screams broke into agonizing sobs. Her chest heaving while her voice went silent. 

How had they come this far? To be lowered on a scale until they were no better off than their ancestors half a millennia ago. They had no means to fight back. Broken in spirit and body to a point where this had become their only memory. Thoughts of escape fleeting and dangerous. Forced to walk the thin line between death and life, and for what? The chance, however slim, that they might escape? Weeks melted into months and there were no closer than they had been. 

Starfleet had never understood Maquis mentality. The desire to rise up against the Cardassians and take back their lives, their land... and fight for the memories of those lost. Anger surged within Tom the likes of which he only recalled having in New Zealand and before. The animalistic need for escape and revenge. But, unlike the days of his misspent youth, it wasn't he that he wanted dead; it was the Kamien. Not just the guards or the Industrial Order, but the entire race. 

"You can't understand what it is to be Maquis," B'Elanna had told him. "To fight side by side by someone, and then, one day, to have them die on the ground beside you. To morn their loss for no more than a second and then have to pull the phaser from their bloody hand, and fire at the bastard that just killed them to save your own life." 

B'Elanna was right. He could hear the pounding in his ears louder than a thousand canons and every fiber of him wanted to kill every guard out there. 

"Lieutenant?" Seven said evenly. 

Tom shook his head and lowered the needle to Sam's leg. The resistance would have to wait until another night. For now, he had to keep them all alive. 

In the morning, the dead would be found and buried.   
  
  


To Be Continued...   
  
  
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	7. Part VII

Modulation   
  
  
  
Modulation Sydney Alexis   


> "And we are here as on a darkling plain 
> 
> Swept with the confused alarms of struggle and flight,
> 
> Where ignorant armies clash by night."
> 
> ~Matthew Arnold, _Dover Beach_

Part VII   


After treating Sam, Tom returned to Kathryn. He carefully wrapped her body in a wet blanket and scooped her limp frame into his arms. Having carefully carried her to their cell, he placed her on the ground with infinite ease. 

Being the most critically injured, he was concerned that seeing her in this condition would only kill the spirits of the crew-- what was left of them anyway. He was further worried by the fact that several of the prisoners had developed an illness that resembled tuberculosis. Fearing for her health while her immune system was fighting any infections she contracted because of her wounds, he had asked the guards to separate her from the rest of those hurt in the fire. 

In his absence, her breathing had grown uneven and her skin-- what was left of on her face and chest-- had taken on an unhealthy pale hue. Leaning her body against his, he slowly peeled away the fabric of her uniform, checking for wounds that were hidden by the cloth. A sulfuric smell entered his nose. He fought hard against the instant nausea that it created, but found it was only exasperated by the mottled, charred flesh that remained hanging loosely from her arms and legs. 

"Trying to take advantage of an unconscious woman? Really, Tom," she said, coughing. Her throat was so raw from the fumes of the blaze that she was convinced she had actually swallowed the flames. 

"You're just too irresistible to ignore," he responded, smiling. 

Kathryn laughed lightly, but stopped abruptly, grabbing at her left side. Tom helped her down onto the soil of their cell. This time, she wasn't even trying to hide her pain from him-- a fact that was not missed on his part. 

Drawing the small lantern the guards had provided him with earlier during the night down her body, he returned his glance to her chest. Having wiped away the dried on blood, he was alarmed to see more than scratches. He needn't run his hands over her rib cage; she was so gaunt that he could see that at least two ribs were broken. Her hands and arms were more damaged than her chest. Second and third degree burns covered most of the surface; entire layers of flesh were blackened, red, and hanging loosely from muscle and bone. Tom covered her extremities in snow again, letting them act as a coolant. 

A turbulent mind fought hard to remain in control. Her injures were beyond his help. Short of a miracle, only advanced treatment would restore her life. Seeing his struggle to maintain his composure, Kathryn attempted to lighten the mood. 

"Sweet words. Keep it up and you might..." 

He paused looking up from her chest where he was tying the securing the wrappings to stabilize her broken ribs to her face. "Might what?" He said, realizing she hadn't finished her thought. Her eyes were closed. Shaking her shoulders lightly, he repeated her name. "Kathryn? Kathryn? Don't fall asleep on me." 

"Sorry...I'm just so sleepy," she admitted. 

"I know, but you need to stay awake. You probably have a concussion," he said, concern etched across his face. 

"How bad is it?" she asked, finally. 

Tom paused for a long moment not sure whether the truth was something she needed to hear. "Kathryn, I..." 

"The truth, Tom," she said, evenly. Her eyes were pleading with him. 

"It's bad," he said, lowering his eyes. "Without a medical tricorder I can't be 100% sure. I can tell you that, without treatment, you will probably never regain the use of your hands. Yours arms and legs are nearly as bad. There are shards of glass in both as well as your face and legs, but I can't get all of the debris out. You've got at least two broken ribs, and smoke inhalation." 

Kathryn raised her chin as she listened to Tom list her injures. It was a vain attempt to stop the tears that were forming in her eyes. Unable to move without screaming in pain and unable to wipe away the wetness she felt burning down her cheeks, she felt utterly helpless. Beyond all that, the pain was excruciating. Not for the first time during her trip here, she found herself wishing she had Vulcan mental abilities necessary to block out pain. 

"I feel so lightheaded," she admitted. 

"Lack of oxygen circulating in the blood stream. Contrary to what you might think, Kathryn, you are _not_ invincible." 

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"You should have just gotten out of the damned building." 

"And what about Sam?" she replied, voice raising. "You would have me just leave her in there? I promised this crew I would get them home just like I promised myself I would never leave a member of my crew behind." 

"You can't save everyone, Kathryn," Tom said, cupping her face with infinite tenderness. 

"Neither can you, Tom." 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He recoiled instantly anger rising in his voice and face. 

"You can't save me this time, and you know it." 

"Shhh...don't talk like that," he said, looking up from her and staring at the bars before him. Tom's eyes began to brim with unshed tears as his mind chastised him for being so weak. He needed to keep things together for her sake as much as his. 

"I always imagined I would have a Starfleet funeral. Just like I always assumed that I would die on the bridge of my ship. Either that, or as a gray-haired admiral. I never guessed I would go like this- without dignity and forgotten as soon as the rest of my crew dies off. Maybe I was just being selfish, but I always assumed that something I would do would leave a legacy- a scholastic publishing at the very least...or children." 

Desperate to lighten the mood, Tom blurted out the first tasteless comment that came to mind. Of course, it was something that had, oddly enough, been weighing in his mind. "You know, technically, you did have children." 

Kathryn looked up at him with an incredulous look. "Children that are lizards and on some far-removed planet. We don't even know that they survived. A number of creatures are dependent on their parents until adulthood." 

"I wonder what they would have been like had they been rescued." Tom mused, staring out at the night sky through the bars of their prison cell. 

"They'd probably have a great sense of humor, be prone to breaking the rules, and persistent to the point of being annoying like their father," Kathryn replied, a wistful smile on her face. 

"I was thinking more along the lines of your beauty, intelligence, and ability to pull men in like the Sirens," Tom said, meeting her eyes evenly. 

"I'm none of those things," Kathryn said, sobering. "I am just a woman who was once your captain." 

"I left out modest to a fault," he volleyed, smiling. 

"You're starting to sound like Chakotay did," she replied. 

Tom gasped and laughed lightly. "A fate worse than death." 

"Chakotay told me once that all spirits are bound to each other in one form or another and that they would meet up again in each incarnation." 

"And you don't believe him?" Tom asked, stroking her hair and returning his gaze to the star-filled sky. 

"I don't know what I believe anymore. Is their life after we die or do we just slip into a sleep and never wake up? I guess I am just a realist at heart." 

"I'd like to believe that I was more important to this earth in some aspect other than just procreation and dying. I would like to believe that, for at least one moment, my father would be proud of me. I'd also like to know that, in the end, I would get redemption despite the life that I led." 

Kathryn let out a sigh and looked up at him. "Redemption," she repeated. 

"It's why you stayed to help Sam and kept us going all these years. Whether you want to admit it or not; you felt that the only way to prove yourself was to get us home. But, in the process, Voyager became home." 

"That's because we've been away from Earth too long." 

"Berating yourself isn't going to get us any closer to home," he retorted and watched her recoil. Instantly, he regretted saying it. "I'm sorry, Kathryn...I shouldn't have..." 

"It's okay," she said, offering a weak smile. "Sometimes a dose of the truth is what the doctor ordered." 

Tom nodded in return and they fell into a brief mutual silence. Kathryn broke it. "If you had to do it all over again...your life I mean...what would you change?" 

He gave pause to the question, mulling the answer over in his mind. "Nothing," he said. 

"Nothing?" she repeated. 

Tom shrugged. "Everything in my life lead me to this moment. If I hadn't ended up in prison, I never would have met you. I also wouldn't have been along for this ride to the Delta Quadrant which means you wouldn't have had your best pilot at the helm." 

Kathryn smiled but said nothing. Tom continued. "I also wouldn't have gotten the chance to know you...really know you. To me, you were the grand specter that my father always compared me to. I used to hate you for it. Now, I can't imagine my life without you." 

"I don't know what to say...," she said quietly. 

"You don't have to say anything," he said, shrugging his shoulders. 

"Are you trying to coax me into a deathbed confession? Because it isn't going to work." 

"Oh...the intrepid Captain Janeway has some deep, dark secret. I never pictured you are the religious type." 

When she didn't reply, his gaze lowered to her limp silhouette. Fear crept into his tired mind. He tilted her head back and lowered his head onto her chest, quieting his own breathing. Her broken body lay unmoving. The vapor he expected to feel on his cheek was not there. 

With trembling hands, he slid his fingers from her chin to her neck. No pulse... he checked the other side with the same result. Taking in a deep breath he filled her with two breaths and turned to chest compressions. 

"Damn it, Kathryn, don't you dare leave me..." The voice sounded strange even to himself. 

Time seemed to stand still. His muscles ached, but he ignored them. Eight sets of compressions...more to come... simply ignoring the blinding fire that spread across his arms and back. Sweat dripping from his forehead. Tuvok would say it illogical to persist. _The doctor would have called her by now, Paris._ His mind taunted. The voice of his father-- a distant imaging of a tired mind-- blamed him for yet another dead comrade. 

Death moved into the shadows of the room, reaching its flithy hands towards Kathryn, but not yet touching her. Its maw opening in anticipation of the taste of flesh, saliva dripping with the expectation. It taunted him, hoping to convince him to stop his endeavors. 

_"NO!"_ Tom screamed, desperate to clear his mind of these thoughts. "Don't leave me, Kathryn, please." 

Laboring on, he finally received a small glimmer of hope. A tiny gasp escaped her lips as her chest rose of its own accord. A pulse, weak and thready moved slowly against the pads of his fingers. 

Exhausted, Tom sank back against his cell wall. Unwilling to lose contact with her body, his hand reached to stroke her hair once silken strands. It was one of the few tangible areas of her body. His muscles ached, his head was pounding, but most of all the pain and realization at the idea of almost losing her spread through him. First time in months, he felt himself crying. 

The Doctor stood in the laboratory performing an autopsy on the latest Talaxian trial. This child had survived only a few hours outside of his pod before dying. Having the most knowledge of this being's structure, he had been asked to assist on the case. When he refused, they had threatened to kill the real Mr. Neelix. 

If he were to be honest with himself, he wished that he was the same program he had been when first activated. That hologram was programmed with indifference on some level. Standing here, in the brightly lit, stark white room, his hands being covered in the blood of the infant as he dissected the tiny heart, he felt dirty. By helping in their little experiments, he knew he was dooming future clones to the same fate-- death. Be it on the autopsy table or from birth, more would die all in the name of taking care of their own race. 

"Computer, resume recording of file Beta-010, Talaxian Male trial 73." 

"Recording." 

"A full dissection of the heart revealed that the cause of death was not a series of malfunctions in the respiratory and cardiovascular track as previously suspected by the Kamien team. It was, in fact, a birth defect. This fetus' life was ended because the left chamber of the heart was not fully developed when removed from his status pod. Upon reviewing the DNA structure of this being, I have found that gene pair 26 will need restructuring on the sub-cellular level to correct the problem. 

"Stop recording, add time and date index, and send file to Talken, G'tan Kairon, and Tanari," The Doctor ordered the main computer as he began placing the tiny being into the standard stasis containers. 

The signal above the stainless steel medical bed he was working at began to blink. Someone was entering the medical laboratory. Assuming it was Tanari, he returned to placing the removed organs into the closest of the array of small status containers near him. Each glass held an embalming solution that was a sickly yellow in color. 

"Hi, Doc, I've been ordered to work on your holomatrix. G'tan Kairon is sending you on a little mission." 

"Lieutenant Torres?" 

"You make it sound as if you've seen a ghost," B'Elanna said, wrinkling her nose as she entered fully into the room. The smell of the embalming fluid's putrid smell reminded her of partially cooked Kovar Beast-- a mixture of skunk and a rotting banana peel. She marveled at the fact that The Doctor was oblivious to the smell. Making a mental note to check his sensory routines, she smiled at his expression; shocking the Doctor was rare indeed. 

"You and Harry were killed when you were caught trying to escape. I saw your death reports." 

"I was or at least that is what they told me. Tanari repaired the damage and Kairon sent me to work repairing the damage to Voyager. Apparently, they plan on using it in their armada, and I was worth more to them alive," she said stepping towards the surgical steel table he was standing next to. The Doctor put his hand up to stop her. 

"Why don't we go into Tanari's office and do this." 

B'Elanna shrugged her shoulders. "Whatever suits you." 

The morning came, just as it always did. Tom's eyes opened slowly. He shifted slightly, muscles complaining. Kathryn moaned lightly as he moved. A brief moment passed while Tom found his bearings. Rubbing his eyes while shook his head, he managed to ward off Morpheus' hard grip. As soon the fogginess lifted, he recalled the horrors of last night. He quickly moved to her side, and placed two fingers against her neck, breathed a sigh of relief to find a pulse. It was the heat of her skin that alarmed him; she was covered in perspiration. 

Infection was, no doubt, setting in. Like a parasite, it was already sapping the last bits of strength she had left. There was little he could do but cleanse them, save keeping her hydrated, and hope for the best. Silently, he cursed the poor conditions. Medical expertise was of little help if you were living in a place that wasn't unlike the Dark Age. 

He touched her face lightly with a damp cloth and pulled his blanket from beside her. Kissing her lightly on the forehead, he whispered to her, "I'll be back." 

From the cell, he called to one of the guards. A rather portly man with dark eyes and helmet that was too large for him came waddling towards the cell. 

"Whatcha want?" 

"The captain is still ill. Can you bring me some water, please?" 

To his surprise, the man rolled his eyes and unlocked the cell. "You do it, but try anything funny..." 

Tom merely nodded and walked quickly to the well a few feet away. He slowly turned the crank attached to pail's rope and lowering it into the darkened depths of the shaft. After he heard the splash, he began drawing the bucket up. 

"She's sick, huh. Damn shame. She had spunk." 

"She isn't dead yet." 

"_Yet._ Just a matter of time in this place. If Kenoshia wasn't such a hard ass he might actually keep prisoners." 

Tom merely nodded in response. A dozen witty come backs came to mind, but now was not the time to make this guard irate. Finding any of them willing to help was such a rare thing... 

"You realize I've gotta tell both him and Tumeric you two can't go to the Yard today." 

"Yeah" 

"Keep in mind that your friend only has three days to recover, or ..." 

"Let's hope that's all she needs," Tom said, cutting off the guard's comment before he could complete it. The last thing he wanted to think about was the consequences. 

With a resounding crack, the crank locked into place. Reaching across the aperture of the well, he grasped the pail with one hand and the hook binding it to the rope with the other. With deft movements, he released it and heaved the aluminum cylinder onto the ground before him. Once there, he gained a better grip on the narrow handle and lifted it. The cruel metal shards, created by careless users past, cut through the calloused flesh of his hands, but he disregarded the minor affliction. 

Returning to the cell, Tom knelt down by her side. "I told you I'd be right back." He carefully packed more snow around her thin frame. Hopefully, it would help lower her temperature. It would also help to keep her badly burned skin moist. 

With an equal amount of care, he started cleansing the superficial wounds to her face. He couldn't help but notice that, even in sleep, her face was not peaceful. Pain, or rather the tell tale facial expression of a person in deep physical torment, marred her features. 

With the assistance of the bright light of day, he set out to remove the shards of glass that he could and clean the wounds left in their wake as best he could. Thankfully, he had had the foresight to squirrel a few clean scraps of his uniform away early on in their imprisonment. 

"I remember the first time I saw you in New Zealand. It was far from love at first sight. You stood there, hands on hips and stared me down with that look my father used to give me when I screwed up. Not that I wasn't used to that. So, I decided I would respond the way I always do-- sarcasm. But you saw through my crass remarks. You always could do that, couldn't you, Kathryn? Gauge people by their actions rather than words." 

Tom gave a pause while he switched to cleaning the side of her face opposite him. He knew it was a rhetorical question, but he sensed a calmness that came over her when he was in a close proximity. 

"You stood there-- the perfect image of what a captain should look and act like-- domineering, but caring and sincere all at the same time. I told you I was yours just to ruffle your feathers, but you knew that, didn't you? That moment, I went with you because something told me to. Call it fate. You were the first person that I trusted in a long time. 

"Never could figure out why you decided to have faith in me. Hell, I was too busy getting the feel of a helm under my fingers again to worry about it. But you...you knew the second I saved Chakotay that I was more than the sum of my mistakes. First person to give me a real chance in ages. 

"Wonder what my father would say about this whole situation. Probably something like 'Keep it together for the good of the team, son.' My reasons are purely selfish though. We both know that... I've come to depend on you a great deal more than just being my captain or my friend. I've come to see you as..." 

Tom spoke aloud as he worked too engrossed to notice the sound of heavy footfalls approaching. 

"How touching, Paris." 

Tom's eyes shot up from Kathryn to the dark silhouette standing behind the grill of iron bars. 

"What do you want, Tumeric?" 

"If you want the captain to live, I suggest you lay back and play dead." 

"But why...," 

"Do it," he said, then turning to look over his shoulder, "load these two onto the shuttle. I am going to take them to waste management myself." 

"Yes, my lord," the sycophant Kenoshia said, entering the cell with three other guards. 

Tom clamped his eyes shut and held his breath as best he could as he felt a rough set of hands take hold of his wrists and ankles. 

He felt himself dangling in the air only for a few hundred feet or so, then a scuffling sound followed. Biting his tongue as he was unceremoniously loaded onto the back of a shuttle, his body gave a deafening thump as it landed on the hard deck plating beneath him. Another, softer sound followed as the captain's body was gently laid by another guard next to his. 

"Are you sure you want to deal with them yourself, sir?" Kenoshia's voice said in the distance. 

"Positive. Nothing will bring me greater joy that to load the captain's body into the incinerator myself." 

"Aye, sir." 

The shuttle bay hatch closed finally, blocking out the cold night air. Heavy footfalls passed him. 

"Open your eyes, Mr. Paris. It is safe." 

Alarmed at Tumeric's presence near Kathryn, Tom stood. There was something odd about the man's stance. It seemed familiar. 

"Where are you taking us?" 

"To The Farm." 

"I don't understand, sir. What possible gain could the Cardassians received by continuing to fight the Maquis?" The younger version of himself asked. 

"Well, you have to understand that those in the Maquis had nothing to lose. When the Cardassians took over their homelands, they killed a great number of people. The Maquis responded by taking out as many soldiers as they could. So, the Cardassians entered into the war against the Maquis because they would only continue to attack. The Cardassians saw it as a the war as a preventive measure. We saw it as a weakening of their defenses." 

"You were outgunned, outnumbered, fighting with out-dated, substandard equipment, and you thought that you could win?" the some boy voiced. 

Commander Chakotay stood before the smattering of Replicas. Running a hand through his coarse hair, he began to wonder if he had truly been this irritating as a child. 

"Lieutenant Torres has told us that the Klingons believe that there is honor in fighting and winning when you are greatly outnumbered," the same boy added obviously please with his knowledge of anthopology. 

"Terrain records are filled with evidence that strategy is more important than numbers or weapons. The Revolutionary War of the Americas is a good example. The United States was greatly outnumbered and outgunned, but they still won the war. A few years later, when the Civil War broke out, the only reason that the South held out as long as it did was because of good leadership," Janeway suggested. 

"Correct me if I am wrong, Commander, but didn't the South lose? Besides, the Maquis never saw any truly large scale turn arounds like the South did at some points along the way. Are you implying that their leaders were sound in their strategy? Because clearly...." the stoic boy asked. 

"You can be so Vulcy sometimes, Vorik" Janeway said, rolling her eyes. 

"What do you mean that the Captain and Tom just disappeared?" Chell said, wide-eyed to the troupe across the breakfast table. The blue skinned Bolian had turned into a deep cerulean from his outdoor work during the summer. Now, facing the winter, he was forced to keep his head wrapped to fight the cold that would come from an exposed bald head. 

"Last night, Tom had the Captain carried into their cell, and he went to tend to her wounds after the worst of the injured were seen to. This morning, Naomi saw Kenoshia's men loading them into the back of the Flyer. It took off towards the incineration chamber. Rumor has it that the Captain died during the night and Tom offed himself," Ayala said, pulling her make-shift shawl around her shoulders. The crisp morning air was always unforgiving. 

"Well, I heard that G'tan ordered them to be brought to a hospital...something about the Captain's life being worth more to him alive," another crewman said. 

"Would explain why they got more food rations than we did..." Chell offered. 

"And the easier assignments..." Ayala continued. 

"Enough," Naomi said, slamming her fist down on the table. "The Captain would have never let _anyone_ give her preferential treatment to her crew." 

"How do you explain the rations then?" Chell asked. 

"She was usually the one that took beatings for all of us, and you would resent the fact that she got one extra sliver of bread?" Naomi said, eyeing each of them. "If you remember correctly, she was put on an 'easier' work detail after she was beaten and nearly raped. The same detail that most of you were assigned to when you were ill." 

"What about Tom? He was never as bad off as her, and he still got extra rations." 

"Did you follow Lieutenant Paris to each of his assignments, Crewman?" Seven asked. 

"Well...no, but..." 

"How many times were you beaten without witnesses?" she queried. "It has been my observation that Mr. Paris has a higher tolerance for pain, and, given his...high regard for the Captain's well being, he would, no doubt, hide the indications of those injures." 

"Look at what has happened to us; turning our backs on each other like we never knew each other. If we don't stick together, we might all be dead," Naomi said, "I need to check on my mother. If you'll excuse me," she murmured, slipping out from her seat on the bench. 

"Who are you?" Tom asked, noting how easily this man...Tumeric managed a _Starfleet_ craft. 

"I thought that I told you the first morning you arrived here. Apparently you weren't listening. Typical human. I am G'tan Tumeric, leader of the Industrial Order's Yard. Now, go keep your captain alive." 

"You seem to have a fairly good manage on how to run a shuttle." 

"Of course I do." 

"The Constellation always was a bit more difficult to handle than the other shuttles," Tom said, fishing for answers. 

"I would think that you would know the difference between the Constellation and the Flyer, Mr. Paris. She is, after all, _your_ creation," Tumeric replied, not hiding the irritation in his voice. 

"How did you know that?" Tom asked, slipping into the copilot's seat. 

For a split second, the carefully placed mask of neutrality slipped. Tumeric finally looked up from the controls and met Tom's gaze. His eyes revealed nothing nor did his voice when he replied. 

"Simple deduction. Now, go take care of Captain Janeway. We should be there soon." 

"What is The Farm?" 

"You will learn when you arrive there. All you need to know is that it has a medical facility." 

"Why are you helping us?" 

"Because I can't just let her die," he replied more emphatically. 

Tom decided to pursue the line of conversation. It would seem that he had lead Tumeric onto a verbal mine field. 

"Why not? She's just another prisoner," he countered, voice dripping with venom. 

"She is hardly another prisoner." 

"Oh?" 

Tumeric stilled, gave an exasperated sigh, and turned towards Tom, meeting his gaze squarely. "You are an infuriating man, Paris." 

"So I have been told," Tom said, crossing his arms. 

"Do you know what the Industrial Order's punishment for aiding and abetting an escapee? Death to his family, his friends, and all those that served under him. If you stay up here we both run the risk of being caught. With you in the back, I can explain myself away...please." 

Tom sat for a moment, digesting the conversation that had just transpired. Had he behaved as he just had in the encampment, he would have been beaten. However, the man that currently held him not only supplied him with the medical equipment he needed to stabilize the captain but also seemed to be trying to save her life. He found it all a little puzzling. 

"The extra food rations?" 

"Merely a precaution. She is the most valuable member of your crew. There are many species with rewards on her head for returning her alive." 

"And the lighter work detail after she had been beaten?" 

"A sick worker is worth less than one in perfect health." 

"I'll buy that, but why transfer both of us to this farm? Why not just her?" 

"The doctor will need an assistant to help him in the surgery. You have the most medical training of the surviving crew, and most of my men are not as familiar with human physiology," he lied. 

Tom took a moment to refocus his thoughts. "Forgive me for sounding cynical, G'tan, but everything you say just doesn't add up. If she's worth so much alive, then why haven't you turned her over and collected her bounty?" 

"The Industrial Order believes that breaking her of her spirit first will serve the larger purpose." 

"The larger purpose?" 

"We're having trouble releasing her security lock-out. All attempts to withdraw that information failed. We deemed that her only weakness is her attachment to the crew. Systematically killing them all is wearing her down. We are waiting to execute you last. The President feels that your death might cause her to take...brash measures." he lied again. 

Tom's eyes narrowed. "I'll ask you again; who are you?" 

"Not this again. You really should have your head examined, Mr. Paris. All those beatings you have had must have effected you short term memory." 

"You just said you couldn't get passed the lock-out. If that was the case, then you couldn't get to any of the crew personal files. So, how do you know I have medical training?" 

A warning klaxon sounded from the panel. "I said we couldn't get to all of the systems, Mr. Paris. I never said we didn't get to some of them." Tumeric's hands ran over the console. "It's a Kamien war vessel. Get in the back and tend to the captain _now_!" 

"Not until I get some answers," Tom said, crossing his arms. 

"I'll explain everything when we get there. It's not like I have a choice. Now, please. If you don't, we all might die today." 

Tom nodded his head slowly and moved towards the biobed Kathryn was laying on. He overheard a short interplay between G'tan and another vessel. He could only hear bits of the conversation. 

"What is the meaning of this? Detaining a superior officer is grounds for dismissal," Tumeric said, loudly. "I don't care if you were told to bring Janeway to the High Ruler himself. She is with me, understood? Good. G'tan out." 

"Paris, I'm initiating a site to site transport," Tumeric said from the front of the vessel. 

"Understood," Tom replied as a familiar blue beam surrounded both he and the captain. As the walls of the shuttle disappeared, they were replaced by that of the surgical bay. Tom found himself standing next to the biobed the captain was on. Tumeric was already rushing about sickbay quickly, collecting instruments. 

He took in his surroundings. It was a large, well-lit sickbay that resembled the one on Voyager in many respects. The walls were a similar gray color. Four biobeds lay in a semi-circle with the main console for each at the head. 

Directly across from him was the entrance. It was wide enough to push or carry gurneys through. To its immediate right was the doctor's office. Only the top half held windows. The lower portion was bulkhead material. 

The room smelled of death and sterilization fluid. The latter was an curious mixture of rotting garbage and orange zest. 

In the rear of the room, was the surgical bay where Tom was currently standing. At the head of this biobed, an upraised partition monitored Kathryn's heart rate, blood pressure, and respiratory rate. Each was critically low. 

"What do you think you are doing?" He asked, watching as Tumeric held a medical tricorder over Kathryn's chest. 

"Isn't it obvious? I am prepping to operating on the captain." 

"The hell you are," Paris said, pushing Tumeric aside. 

"Mr. Paris, I don't have time for your male posturing. You can assist me if you like, or I can sedate you. If I don't operate, she'll die." 

"How do I know you won't do something to kill her?" 

Tumeric's eyes narrowed. "First do no harm, Mr. Paris. It was the first thing that I taught Kes and it is the first thing they taught you in your first aid classes at the Academy." 

"Doc?" 

He nodded his head. "Now, are you going to help me?" 

"Why didn't you tell me before?" 

"The Kamien have listening devices everywhere. They are unscrupulous not to mention paranoid." 

"Aren't we still in a Kamien building?" 

"Yes, but these people sent me to get you; they know you are here. They didn't want the Captain to die, and neither did I. Now, are you going to help me or stand there with your mouth open?" 

Tom walked over towards the sanitizing unit watching months of dirt virtually float off of his body. Disinfected, he returned to Kathryn's side. 

"What happened to you? How did you end up here?" 

"Right before the attack, I had been called to the cargo bay by Seven. Half way there, the ship fell under attack. The bulkheads around me started collapsing. I was trapped. The communications array was down so I couldn't call for help. 

"When we were boarded, I hid in one of the Jefferies Tubes and deactivated my program. I altered my appearance to look like one of the guards and escaped with a shuttle. They thought that I was bringing it for analysis." 

"Why didn't you come for us sooner?" 

The doctor began running last minute scans before starting the procedure. "They have a complex sensor grid. While it doesn't detect proton based life-forms, it does sense movement from any vessel or living species. If anyone without the proper genetic code...the Kamien genetic code... steps out of the bounds of their array, small robotic units are deployed to 'remove the threat.' I tricked one of their little devices, and G'tol Kairon brought me here." 

"But how did you..." 

"I'll explain the rest after, Mr. Paris," The Doctor said, running a medical tricorder over her limp body. His face fell grave. 

"What is it, Doc?" 

"Her condition is much worse than I thought." 

Tom looked up from the pale flesh of her face to the Doctor's. An unspoken question clearly written in Tom distraught filled glance, the physcian answered in a sympathetic tone. 

"She's going into hemorrhagic shock from internal bleeding; one of her broken ribs pierced her lung. She also has a brain embolism. Looks like the clot was thrown from her leg. To add to that, she has a fractured pelvis, wrist, a broken arm that is healing improperly, multiple contusions and abrasions... from previous beatings no doubt. Smoke inhalation. Second and third degree burns to sixty percent of her body. Some of her those wounds are infected... It's a wonder she is still alive at all." 

"What are her chances?" 

"If we can control the bleeding," the doctor said, already prepping Kathryn for surgery, "and repair the embolism before any permanent damage sets in, she has a 45% survival rate." 

Tom leaned forward placing his hands on the biobed. He allowed his shoulders to slouch forward. 

"The captain is the most resilient person I know. More so than even yourself. Now, stop the internal bleeding," the doctor ordered while he started an incision on Kathryn's skull. 

Tom straightened from his position and picked up a laser scalpel. He refused to pull his attention from the task at hand. 

"Stay with me, Kathryn," he whispered. 

"Gather round, children. No crowding. No crowding," Neelix said, watching as the tiny lot bunched in front of his chair. It was remarkable how quickly the maturation shots were working. The first batch of Replicas were almost at four years in age by human standards of development. The only children not aged were those of the Gamma group. Currently, only two were created. The second being Naomi Wildman. It was deemed that accelerating her growth at such a young age might affect her as her Katerian chemistry. The maturation injections would wait until her immune system developed more- some time around six months old. 

Neelix spied Lieutenant Commander Tuvok as he sat across the room feeding GV-001 who was now called Hope. A smile tugged as his lips as he saw the ever stoic Vulcan favoring the child with softened facial expressions. Of course, the Talaxian would never point out Tuvok's obvious fondness for the child. 

"All right. Is everyone settled?" Neelix asked, finally taking his seat. "Good. Now let me see...last time I told you about the young woman that was married with the help of her fairy god mother." 

"I still fail to see how this fairy godmother could create a carriage from a leola root, Mr. Neelix," the young Vulcan said, raising an eyebrow. The Talaxian merely smiled. 

"Your question is a tribute to the Commander's teachings." 

"Tuvok, be quiet. I want to hear the story," Kathryn said, turning to give her friend her best death glare. 

"I have just the story to tell you all tonight. I found it in the databanks of Voyager. Once upon a time in a ..." 

"...galaxy far, far away," a young boy chirped. "I remember that movie! Ensign Kim took me to see it yesterday." 

"No Tom, this story is about a queen....an evil queen who was known for her vanity. Each night she would stand before an enchanted mirror and repeat the same words. 

'Mirror, mirror on the wall who is the fairest of them all?' 

"For many years the mirror replied to her that she was, but, one night, it told her that Snow White was. Enraged, the queen sent a warrior to kill the great beauty." 

"Mr. Neelix, I fail to see how this is supposed to be a children's story. The dark overtones..." 

"Be quiet, Annika," Janeway scolded. 

"The hardened warrior rode off into the night to find the girl. His mission was simple: find Snow White, kill her, and return her heart to the queen, but, when he did find her, he fell in love with her instantly," Neelix continued. 

"Failure to follow a superior officer's command is treason." 

"Yes, it is, Harry. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. How could I forget? Unable to kill the young woman, the warrior warned her of the Evil Queen's plans and told her never to return to the palace. Agreeing, she ran off into the night. The warrior returned to the queen with the heart of a beast of the forest in her box rather than that of the girl. 

"Years past while the girl hid in the forest with friends. The Evil Queen was unaware that the girl was still alive as the mirror proclaimed her the most beautiful woman in the land. Until one day a fair headed prince came upon Snow White in the forest..." 

"There development is amazing, Talken," Kairon said, watching through a monitor. "Your work on this project will not soon be forgotten." 

Talken stood a few paces behind his superior, unmoving. His eyes moving from the small children on the screen to the one of the sickbays on The Farm. Cameras within the rooms only turned on with movement to save efficiency. In this case, the Doctor and Tom were working on Captain Janeway. Though he found their interaction more informative, he spoke not against G'tol's viewing choice. 

"The holographic humanoid was of great help. Without his suggestions, I am not sure that they would be as advanced as they are." 

"How so?" 

Talken turned his citrine eyes upon his master. Custom dictated that he must look at his superior when speaking. He had also found that the penalty for not giving Kairon his undivided attention could be quite painful. 

"He was the one that suggested that we call the Replicas by the given names of those that we cloned. In that manner, they have absorbed their identities a great deal more quickly that other species in the past." 

Kairon nodded and turned his own attention back to the children that sat in a small semi-circle around the older Talaxian. Talken's eyes, however, stayed upon his master. The wiry blond hair had grown slightly past regulation and his skin had lost its near transparent quality from time spent overseeing the crop yield. Genetic treatment was called for before their next meeting with the Industrial Order; the leader of the single largest production on Kamien could not be tanned like a common laborer. 

Allowing his physical condition to slip to the point of being noticeable was a true sign of the amount of pressure his superior was under. The Voyager project had been a complicated one... 

"How do you deal with the confusion of those that have their Alpha version here on The Farm?" 

"That was actually one of the least difficult problems we have encountered. In cases where the Alpha has a first and last name, they are only referred to by their last name in front of the children. In cases of only one name like Tuvok, Neelix, and Chakotay, their names are proceeded by mister, instructor, or their rank." 

"Most efficient." Kairon said, signaling his approval by nodding his head. 

"How do you plan on balancing out their ages? As I understand it, they are now all four years of age. According to Voyager's records, Tuvok was in his nineties when we captured him while other members varied in age from teenage years to old age." 

"As I said, the Doctor has been of great assistance. He pointed out that their systems are very delicate in youth because their bodies aren't fully developed. Because the immune and glandular systems are, after all, that pathway we use to age the system and both highly important in growth, the Doctor suggested that we wait until their race's puberty to make these adjustments as the body expects rapid, uneven growth." 

"All of their cognitive skills are developing evenly?" 

"For the most part. As predicted, each Replica is showing faster development in their original's major field. It is also interesting to note that those studying music under the real Mr. Kim are doing as much as 60% better across the board than those that are not. I believe we should include some level of study for all those involved. It would speed up the end result," Talken explained. 

"I'm not so sure. Many logs spoke of a longing to have studied different instruments as a child and stayed with it." 

"Some human schools required arts education from the Terrain year 2000 to the current as part of the main curriculum. I believe it wouldn't be a great stretch. There music is very mathematical in formation. The ability to play an instrument also increases hand-eye coordination which will, in turn improve targeting abilities when they learn weaponry." 

"Very well. Ask Mr. Kim to include all the children in basic music theory from now on." 

"Yes, sir." 

"What of young Kathryn and Tom's development?" 

"While Tom is excelling at flight simulators, he is not living up to the expectations placed on him. Mr. Neelix noted that Mr. Paris tended to rely in his 'gut instinct' when in battle. Standard flying patterns that Starfleet provided were just the foundation of the movements he used. 

"Kathryn, on the other hand... there is just something missing from her. There is the same attitude, and compassion towards here peers, but Mr. Neelix tells me that her determination doesn't match. Mr. Chakotay agreed. He called it her 'fire.'" 

"Suggestions?" 

"We knew from the beginning that replicating such diverse personalities would be difficult. I believe that Starfleet personnel would give some leeway for mistakes in our creations as the crew have been lost for some time. However, the Janeway and Paris replicas must be the most convincing. 

"I will be able to make adjustments accordingly once I am able to interact with the real Janeway more. If worse comes to worse, we will instigate our contingency plan. I would, however, prefer not to. The real Janeway is a wild card." 

"Agreed," Kairon said, turning towards his desk and looking over his agenda list. With such a large scale product, it was not uncommon for them to barely have time to meet. 

"I have already had Janeway and Paris brought to The Farm. The Captain is being operated on now, and the holographic doctor advised me that no unnecessary stress should be placed upon her should she survive. I will wait a few days to speak to her. However, I would like you to speak with Paris in person. He needs to feel a strong force as he respects and understands them more than those he sees as subservient," Talken said, evenly. 

"You know my own mind better than I do, Talken." 

Talken lowered his head to show his respect. Open praise from his master was rare indeed. 

"How goes the seed studies?" Kairon asked, turning to glare at the screen once again. 

"As strong as it has been in some time. We have a small portion of their crew within Greenhouse five. They have, in the past few months, advanced our technologies further than we anticipated. This year's yield should be twice that of the previous." 

"Excellent. We need that cover well established and quickly." 

"So it shall be done," Talken said, clasping his hands behind his back. 

The alarm for morning roll call sounded and the prisoners of The Yard raced from the breakfast area to the center of camp. There, in a straight line, stood the forty seven members of the Kazon crew that had been captured just days before. G'tan Tumeric climbed the thirteen steps to his favorite place- the execution 'stage.' 

Those seasoned members of The Yard knew exactly what was going to happen. The only question left unanswered was by what means and how many. 

"Yesterday, the sewing factory was burned nearly to the ground. A great deal of valuable equipment was lost. Precious time will be spent the next few days to rebuild. There is also the labor of burying your dead before this place begins to smell of rotting carcasses. All of this reflects badly on me. _Someone_ is going to have to answer for this crime. Who is responsible? The only information that I have gathered is that the guilty parties were Kazon," he said, looking down at the line of red-faced soldiers. 

"Speak now and save your comrades." 

"We are all guilty," a young Kazon said, turning towards G'tan in defiance. 

A slightly tanned jaw jutted out in anger as yellow quartz eyes turned viciously towards the disobedient boy. Hands clasped behind his back, he slowly stomped across the platform towards the insolent child. No more than eight in age, the Kazon boy slinked backwards toward the line of his ship mates as G'tan approached. Crouching down so that his sight was even with the rebellious child, he favored him with a demonic gaze powerful enough to send shivers down Lucifer's spine. A small, yellow puddle began to form on the soil beneath this untested would-be 'soldier's' shoe. 

"What did you say?" Tumeric said through clenched teeth. 

The wide-eyed boy stepped back yet again, stumbling over another Kazon soldier and toppling towards the ground behind him straight onto his 'pride.' The action did not stop his retreat. Crawling on his hands, he continued to distance himself. 

"Kenoshia!" Tumeric bellowed. "Kill every other Kazon in that line, and don't stop until those responsible step forward. 

An evil sneer crossed Tumeric's lips as the macabre dance began. Once powerful Kazon soldiers of varying ages fell to the crimson soaked ground with a gapping hole in their chests. 

Those that still breathed stood tall in the hot morning sun. Chins high and stature straight none of them broke their stance to gaze down at their twenty three ship mates that now littered the ground. When Kenoshia reached the end, his haughty smile deepened. 

"Oh how the mighty Kazons fall.... I am still waiting for an answer," the ring leader shouted to the gathered crowds. 

A long pause followed as the sound of gunfire ceased its thunderous echo through the camp. The remaining crew of Voyager as well as a motley group of other prisoners that came before and after their arrival stood in the early morning sun looking onward at the carnage. Long time prisoners began to wordlessly take bets on the numbers killed in the second round while others looked on, disgusted. The pot? The loser's food for the day. 

The group's attention was once again pulled to the front as the same young boy found the courage to speak again. "You have already killed the conspirators, G'tan," he called up to the angered leader. 

"So, the little nipper has a tongue left after all. Why do you defy me? We will see if you are still as outspoken when you are loaded into the crematorium ovens still alive," then, turning towards his favored guard, Kenoshia, "March them there now and be sure they take their friends with them." 

"But sir, G'tol Kairon warned against taking drastic measures again," Kenoshia whispered. 

"That was only with the Voyager crew. These Kazon dogs are different," he returned at equal level. "Besides, the ground can always use good fertilizer." 

Kenoshia blew his whistle and barked orders at the surrounding guards. Each Kazon retrieved one of their fallen, slinging the lifeless bodies over their shoulders, they were forced to run the two miles toward the massive, foreboding tower in the distance from which the odd gray snow fell day and night. 

Swirls of colors danced before her until an image cleared in her mind. She had been here before. The light sound of the concertina filtered down the street to the tiny establishment she was in. A long bar to her right as she entered and pool tables in front of her. A slender figure leaning over a table, posed to take the next shot. She recognized him immediately. The blond hair and slender fingers were a dead give away. 

"Pretty impossible shot for a novice," she said, approaching him. His fingers slipped and the cue ball went rolling across the table. He gave an exasperated sigh and rose. 

"You know, Captain, I had a week's replicator rations riding on that shot." 

"A few days in the mess hall won't kill you," she retorted not even hiding her amused grin. 

"Are you kidding? My digestive system can handle a full week in the mess hall." 

"If _I_ have to brave it, then all the senior officers should," she said, laughing. 

"I'll make you a deal. I'll eat the with you every day this week if you can go without coffee." 

"Me without coffee is as deadly as B'Elanna and Neelix trapped together in that Barney program you created for Naomi a few years back. The incessant 'I Love You' song playing...where did you find that thing anyway?" 

"Barney was a fad during the 20th century. Something quite a few people would rather forget." 

"I can't imagine why," Kathryn said, rolling her eyes. 

"So who was this bet with? Harry? B'Elanna?" She asked, taking a long sip of the drink Sandrine had brought her. 

"Tuvok actually." 

"Tuvok?" Kathryn repeated, nearly choking. 

"He asked how many games I had played without losing then asked what time I would be playing so that he could monitor the pool table. If I won more games than this holographic pool shark, I would get his rations." 

"I wonder why he would do a thing like that..." 

"He said 'probabilty is against you if your record is as you say.' Then he checked the records for this evening and told me he would monitor my progress via a comm-link. Something about having to complete reports." 

"You know, that's funny considering he just asked me to come check up on you. He said you have used more than your share of holodeck time this month and that I should come speak to you about it for the sake of fairness aboard the ship." 

"And you just happened to come right as I was making my final shot. Thanks, Tuvok!" 

"It was my pleasure. Tuvok out." A voice said through the comm. system. Tom looked over at Kathryn and smiled. 

"I think I could almost _hear_ him smiling." 

Another flash, two hours later when the attack first broke out. Tuvok was shot by Kamien guards as they boarded the bridge. His body withered against the ground, caught in a current that ripped through him. A visible wave that resembled blue lightening coupled with the smell of burning flesh came before his final cry of agony before he lost consciousness. 

"I am the High Ruler of the Industrial Order. This is Kamien Territory. Prepare to land your vessel, and move your crew towards the camps. Not complying will mean death to your entire crew. Is that clear Janeway of Voyager?" 

She nodded her head slowly and motioned for Tom to follow his orders. 

"We will land the ship on the surface as you ask. Please don't harm any more of my crew." 

"Agreed." 

She casually strolled towards the helm and entered in command lock out codes silently. Tom looked up at her and met her gaze. He offered her a weak smile, and whispered "We'll get through this." 

White light filtered in again, another scene change. The holodeck at one of the Doctor's slide shows. She half listened to him drawl on as her eyelids flittered open and closed. How many hours had it been since she last had sleep? The Doctor's presentations were a wonderful cure for insomnia...if it were just an appropriate time. Not that he would notice... A brief moment of black followed by a light tap on the shoulder. 

"Rough night, Captain?" B'Elanna said from behind. 

"That and the right setting..." 

Seven sat to her left entering data into a PADD. She raised an eyebrow. 

"The Doctor's presentation is not a productive use of my time. Since you felt it necessary to ask all senior staff be present, I choose to use the time more efficiently." 

"If only we could all get away with it...," Harry replied. 

"Maybe we could convince him we were taking notes," Tom said from behind her. 

The scene began to change again. This time, however, the light that filtered in was black. A voice drifted towards her. 

"Don't leave me, Kathryn..." 

An image came into view, but this one she saw as a bystander. Tom was over her doing something, but she wasn't sure what. Movement towards his side. The image blurred as she walked, steadied. The palms of his hands dug into a person's chest forcing it down two inches or so. Her eyes drifted up towards the body's face. Pale skin, blue tinted lips, auburn hair...her own flesh so well known to her. She reached out and touched it to find it ice cold. 

He was holding her now, crying. A light opened on the far side of the cell's wall. 

"Come home, Kathryn." 

He had taken her father's form again this time, but she wouldn't be fooled. 

"I can't stabilizer. She's lost too much blood...she's coding! Cortical stimulator. Charge." 

"Charged." 

"No effect." 

"Again, Mr Paris." 

"No effect." 

"Again." 

"Come on, Kathryn...Fight, damn it!" Tom whispered, oblivious to the Doctor's odd stare. 

To Be Continued...   
  
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	8. Part VIII

  
  
Modulation  
Sydney Alexis  
Part VIII 

"J'ai pleuré en rêve. 

J'ai rêve en morte."

~Heinrich Heine 

"What do you mean Paris and Janeway were brought to the crematorium?" Tumeric thundered at his lead soldier, Kenoshia. 

"I saw you load them yourself, sir, as did many of my men. You claimed that the Captain died during the night and that Paris killed himself," Kenoshia said, eyes darting towards the ground.

"You fool!" Tumeric said, the open palm of his hand making contact with Kenoshia's ivory skin. His cheek instantly turning red. A trickle of blood slipped down from a wound made by the G'Tan's ring. "Would I ever lower myself to doing manual labor?" 

"Of course not, sir," Kenoshia responded. He didn't miss a beat and did not flinch when the offending mark was made.

"What vessel was used as transport?"

"One of the Voyager shuttles, sir. It was unlike the others..."

"The Delta Flyer... has it been seen recently?"

"No, sir," Kenoshia said, shifting uncomfortably, but not taking his eyes off his commander.

"Things are growing more curious by the moment...," Tumeric said, rubbing his hands together as he began to think. A moment later he turned to address his general. "I want you to go to the crematorium and scan each burner for their DNA, personally. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Go, quickly. Take as many men as you need. Turn the damned things off if necessary. I will _not_ be blamed for their disappearance."

Kenoshia nodded and turned on his heel. Two quick steps saw him out of the office. Tumeric, on the other hand, ran a hand through his silken hair. He waited a few moments before stepping out onto the balcony attached to his office. There, high on a perch in the tower that loomed over the entire Yard, he watched the ant-like beings laboring in the bitter cold snow. Some were attempting to rebuild the sewing factory while others combed through the remains for items that could be salvaged. Bodies of trapped victims were drug from the scene and piled onto a massive pyre that had been erected. The guards felt that it would take too much time and effort to load them onto shuttles and unload them into the giant ovens. 

* * *

Chell and Ayala huddled near each other during the lunch break. Their trembling fingers wrapped around the warm glass of broth given to them for food. The work they had been assigned to-- checking the wreckage of the building-- had been a major undertaking. Most of the day, the ten or so placed on this task had spent uncovering body after body. Some were Kamien guards, but most were prisoners. A few were crew members. 

"I wonder what happened to Naomi and Sam," Chell said, casting a glance towards the pyre.

"Sam was pretty bad last night. Even if she did die, I doubt they would have killed Naomi. She was worth more to them alive." 

"I just can't believe the captain is gone. I had always assumed she would find a way to get us out of here," Ayala said, honestly. Chell wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulder and drew her close. 

"I suspect this place got to her as much as it did us; she just hid it better. Her wounds were just beyond Tom's abilities."

Ayala sighed again and lowered her head. "Poor Tom. I can't even imagine. I knew they were close, but to kill himself....I never pictured him the type."

"He'd been in some pretty rough patches before. It's not like they didn't put up a fight; they'd been killed once before, and she'd had some close calls before. Maybe it's better this way; they've found their peace."

"How long do you think it'll take? For us to find our peace I mean" Ayala asked, finally meeting his eyes.

Chell's shoulders slumped at his friend's admission. "I don't know. I'm still hoping that we find a way out of this place."

A long pause insued. Ayala's eyes scanned the white dunes in the distance and then the mountains beyond them.

"It stopped."

"What has?" Chell asked.

"Look." Ayala said, pointing in the distance. "The gray snow...it's stopped."

"Maybe they're out of bodies to burn," Chell said, bitterly.

For the first time in nearly the full year they had been there, the ominous trio of smoke stacks in the distance had ceased their production of gray snow. The prisoners all knew it was ashes, but, somehow the euphemism allowed them to pretend otherwise.

"Maybe it's a sign from the prophets."

"I hope so, Ayala. For both our sakes."

* * *

"Tom, wake up." A voice said with urgency through his foggy mind. A hand crept toward him, moving dangerously close. He shot up from bed, covering his head with his arms, sucking in air rapidly, waiting for the blow that never came. When nothing but silence ensured, he opened his eyes, blinking several times before his vision came into focus. 

"Ah, Mr Paris, I see you have finally regained your wits," the Doctor's voice said from a distance. Tom rubbed his eyes wearily. Waking to see a Kamien form over him was unsettling. 

"Sorry, Doc. It's all reflex. How's Kathryn?" He asked, looking past the doctor to the surgical bay. 

"It was a rough night. She coded once more, but it looks like she just might make it. I've tended to her life-threatening injuries. The damage to her hands, arms, and pelvis was quite severe. It will take months of physical therapy in order for her to regain dexterity in those limbs not to mention multiple dermal treatments. The Captain will, no doubt, have some scaring on her hands." 

Tom locked his eyes shut for a moment, drawing in an uneven breath. The emotion hidden behind the movement was not lost upon the Doctor. He reached out and covered Tom's shoulder, forcing the young man's vision to lock on the Doctor's face. 

"I am, however, fairly certain that she will live. She does have a few injuries left to treat, but refuses to let anyone but you heal the rest. For some reason, even in the state that she is in, she knows who is near her. The fact that I look like G'tan doesn't help." 

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Tom asked, swinging his legs off the bed. 

"Are you kidding? I had to sedate you just to get you to get some sleep. It was nothing I couldn't handle." 

Tom nodded, picking up a tricorder he moved towards Kathryn. "When did she regain consciousness?" 

"She didn't totally. She just kept calling for you and fighting me when I tried to get near her. It was both distressing and annoying. Some of her remaining injuries are more than minor. Of course, I had to wait until she was stable to work on them..." 

"I'll see what I can do," Tom said, slipping off his biobed. The doctor nodded and watched from a distance. 

"Doc..." Tom started. "how did you know to take that form?" 

"That, Mr. Paris, is a very long story. As I said, I was brought here to The Farm after triggering that alarm. G'tan Kairon's assistant, Talken, took interest in me immediately. It seemed that his favorite scientist, Tanari, was in need of assistance. They brought me here and forced me into helping with their...work. " 

"The Farm?" Tom repeated, looking over the doctor's earlier scans of her injuries. His heart sank as his eyes read over the cold data. Had the Doctor not shown up when he did... 

"The less you know the better off you will be. All I am authorized to tell you is that the G'Tol Kairon asked me to rescue the captain. He wanted the two of you alive, but didn't want Tumeric to know. 

"G'Tol's hand picked engineer added personality subroutines in me so that I could get into the encampment without Kenoshia detecting any odd behavior. That day that you two were brought into the shuttle bay was my first test run. While you were sloshing around in the bowls of the ship, I was downloading sensor schematics into my holomatrix." 

"You know, you play a Kamien soldier pretty well," Tom said evenly. "Especially that bit where you punched me." 

"Well, I had to make it believable, and, as I have pointed out on several occasions, you are thick headed, Mr. Paris." 

Tom walked around the biobed to reach the tool he needed. Kathryn's body tensed as his proximity. "I would be careful if I were you," the doctor said. 

"It's a defense mechanism. You develop the habit of sleeping lightly so that your are always ready to deflect blows. You've just got to know how to approach her." 

Tom reached her side, set the tricorder down, and began to stroke her hair as he had done every night and spoke to her in hushed tones. "Kathryn?" 

"Is it safe to wake her? She might resist treatment less if she knew was conscious of what was going on." 

"Be my guest." 

Suddenly glad he had taken an interest in 20th century practices, Tom placed the needle of the syringe into her vein and depressed the stopper. After a brief wait, Kathryn opened her eyes and blinked against the bright lights of the surgical bay. "Hmmm...Tom, is that you?" Kathryn said, shifting slightly, grabbing at her head as she struck by sudden pain. "Where are we?" 

"I don't really know; the doctor won't tell me." 

"But how..." she said, moving to sit up. Tom placed his hands on her shoulders to stop her. 

"The Doc and I had a hell of a time patching you up. Try to sit still, okay?" 

"As long as you tell me how we got here," Kathryn said, wincing as Tom gave her an injection for the pain and infection. 

"How much of the past few days do you remember?" 

There was a long pause. Tom spent it whirling the small scanner around her forehead, watching as the readout on the tricorder registered a lowering heart rate consistent with pain relief.

She shook her head slowly trying to clear her mind from the fuzziness the painkillers brought on. "There was a fire...in the sewing factory. Sam and I had to jump out of a window. Sam? Is she all right?" 

"Aside from having to remove Tom's handiwork, Sam is fine. I was able to get both her and Naomi out last night," The doctor said, motioning towards the biobeds across the room. "Where did you learn how to do such crude sutchers, Mr. Paris?" 

"Cute, Doc, real cute. I didn't see you there to help." 

"Tom, how did we get here?" Kathryn repeated. 

"It's quiet simple; I smuggled you out of the encampment," the doctor said, stepping forward. 

Kathryn gasped and backed away slowly from the figure approaching. Tom reached out and grasped her shoulder to stop her. He met her eyes evenly. 

"He's not G'tan, Kathryn. It's the Doctor." 

"How do I know it's not another trick?" She said, eyeing the man and then looking over at Tom. Her eyes dashed around the room. She _had_just heard the Doctor, hadn't she? He stepped forward yet again and addressed her. 

"Do you remember when I learned that I had chosen Harry's life over? You sat with me in the holodeck for hours while I worked through my emotions. Eventually, I ordered you to bed. After you left, I read the page you had left open on your chair. Dante's _La Vita Nuova_." 

Her jaw fell slack for a moment. She recovered quickly. "You could have easily found that out by reading my log entries. Tell me something I wouldn't make note of. Something I told you or visa versa that you never wanted anyone to know." 

The hologram paused for a long moment to collect his thoughts. His eyes shone brightly when the idea came upon him. "Michael Sullivan," he said, simply. "You began to question involvement with a hologram, and you and I spoke in a corridor. I told you that I was no different than he. You had come to think of me as a human being and not a machine. Once you realized that, you finally allowed yourself to fall in love. If you don't mind my saying so, being in love suits you, Captain."

"Doctor?" she saidm incredulously. 

"Quite the disguise, isn't it?" 

"Pity B'Elanna isn't here to change you back," Tom said with disdain. 

"B'Elanna is alive and well. She's the one that did this, actually," he said, without thinking. Then, realizing his faux pas, let worry slip into his features. 

"What do you mean?" Kathryn said, sitting up slightly. 

"Well, I can't really tell you. I'm under orders." 

"Orders from whom, Doctor?" Kathryn asked. 

"Look. The less you know the better. They might return you tonight if they have the chance. If they know that you know, you will have to stay here." 

"Where ever here is," Tom mumbled. 

"Please, just trust me on this, Captain, you don't want to know," The Doctor reiterated. Then, turning towards Tom added, "Treat the rest of her wounds, and make sure that she stays in that bed." 

"Understood," Tom said. 

The doctor made his way towards the sickbay doors and turned. "Oh...be sure that both stay away from any food brought into the room. Your digestive systems can't handle Kamien cuisine. I will have to find an alternative." 

"This place...it almost looks like Voyager's sickbay," Kathryn said, thinking aloud. 

"Probably at the Doctor's request. You know how he likes everything where it belongs." 

"They probably just stripped the damned thing and moved it to this..this..." 

"The Farm," Tom supplied. "I wonder why they call it that. It almost sounds like they are growing something..." 

"My head feels like pins are being driven into my skull." 

"Other than that, how do you feel?" 

"Better. It's a little bit easier to breath. Why?" 

"You have some bones that need repair and treatment for smoke inhalation...skin damage." 

She nodded and laid still on her biobed. Tom worked in virtual silence as he healed the lining of her lungs and shattered pelvis, wrist, and ribs. Bruises to her face, wrists, and chest followed suit. It was then that he turned his attention to her back. 

"Do you think you can lay on your side for a few minutes? I need to get the glass shards out and repair the burns." 

Nodding, she turned, stifling a scream of pain as her newly healed her hip made contact with the hard surface of the biobed. Tom crossed behind her. Peeling the blood stained tank top up, his eyes were greeted with the sight of her badly scarred back. His stomach lurched at the sight. Taking in a deep breath, he separated his emotional side from his professional as best he could and ran the inferior Kamien dermal regenerator over her wounds. 

"There is no infection, and the skin isn't that badly damaged, but I won't be able to heal all of you scars, Kathryn. Some of them are just too old..." 

She took a moment to respond, voice shaking slightly. "Just do the best you can, Tom." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

Running the dermal regenerator in even lines, he began weaving yet another adventure. "Do you remember that carnival in San Diego? The sun had set and all the light of the city were up. I took you by boat from San Francisco Bay to San Diego. It wasn't a far trip, but one you enjoyed as your favorite pilot regaled you with stories of his wild youth. Just as I steered into the harbor, we both could make out the bright lights of the carnival. It was about a quarter of a mile up the coastline, but you told me to dock before then...You've always did have a thing for strategically placing the ship," he said, smiling. 

His efforts are rewarded with a small laugh. Tom let out a small breath, glad that some of his ministrations were working. 

"We approached the carnival and, of course, you took the lead, pulling me towards the Ferris Wheel. We must have ridden it a dozen times before the lines got too long. You said you loved it because it reminded you of the county fair your father used to take you to... before the war." 

Tom paused briefly, realizing that he had mentioned something unpleasant in his created world. A smile came to him as his imagination supplied him with the next ridiculous scene.

"Of course, I had to try my hand at the phaser shoot. After loosing ten pieces of latinum, I finally won you that stuff dog. Do you remember him?" 

He gave a small pause for dramatic effect, knowing it was a rhetorical question. 

"In a typical Paris manner, I screwed up the night though. Tried to take you into the Lover's Lane ride. You agreed for reasons to this day I still don't get, and I tried to kiss you. You, of course, refused and slapped me in the process. My ego bruised, we returned to my father's sailboat, and went back up the coast. 

"You could have made the trip back miserable, but it was so much more beautiful. Out on the open water with the stars reflecting off the black surface. You danced in my arms even though there was no music. When I left you on your doorstep, I gave you our first real kiss." 

Having finished his task, he closed the tricorder and came around the bed to face her. He caressed her cheek with his hand. 

"Tom..." she started. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to correct his breech of protocol. Worried that being back on in the presence of another crewmember would remind her of her duty to Starfleet, he pulled back, and smiled weakly at her. She motioned towards the doctor's office. "He's watched every single move we've made. I wouldn't be surprised if he was reading our lips." 

Tom started to laugh. "I thought that he'd left." 

"He did, but reappeared mid-story. I didn't have the heart to stop you." 

"Well then, Mrs. Paris, why don't we give him something to talk about?" 

"Lieutenant," she said quietly, watching as a defeated look crossed Tom's face. Finally, she allowed a mischievous smile to cross her lips. 

"What I wouldn't give for a long soak in my tub and a hot cup of coffee." 

"Maybe you should ask the Doc if he could convince his friends into it." 

"If they do, would you care to join me, Lieutenant?" 

Kathryn watched in her peripheral view as the doctor's head shot up from his desk. It was her turn to laugh. "I was right; he was eavesdropping." 

* * *

"B'Elanna, it's a bad idea. You know the punishment if we get caught." 

"Harry, just think about it. They need us; they can't afford to kill us all." 

"It's a suicide mission! You know that," he said, running a hand through his hair. 

"It's not like we haven't died once before. Do I need to remind you of The Yard?" 

"It's not that simple, B'Elanna," Harry said, pausing for a long moment. "We died and there was nothing." 

"What?" 

Harry paused and turned his back on her. When did something so simple become so complex? Why did she always do this to him? Her patience had dwindled to next to nothing in this place as the Klingon temper of hers fought hard for power. She'd threatened and cajoled him into helping her dig that tunnel in the first place. He'd been terrified at first--the thought of dying towering over his head like a great maw waiting to swallow him up. He could recall his comrades that stood in a long, straight line by his side. All of them died because of their quest for freedom, and not all of them were brought back. Their deaths weighted on his conscious so heavily that he hadn't slept a full night's sleep since. 

What terrified him the most though was the darkness. There, in the realm of the afterlife, it sucked him in with unrelenting paws, but there was no light or great spirit waiting to take his soul to a greater plan of existence. Oblivion was all that waited, and now, listening to B'Elanna's plan, he knew it was waiting nearby again. 

B'Elanna, on the other hand, was not worried about her finalé. She knew for a fact that Sto-vo-kor existed; she'd seen it or rather the barge that brought them there. That thought never left his mind as he considered what she was suggesting. B'Elanna wanted to die in a blaze of glory with her honor intacted rather than a coward's death. 

Squaring his shoulders, he turned to face what he knew would be her wrath. Defying her was something only a dear friend could get away with and still breathe. 

"B'Elanna, I know why you want to do this, but we're so close to breaking Captain Janeway's command lock out. As soon as we do, we can take over Voyager, beam the others out and get the hell out of here." 

"How do you propose to get the forcefield around The Yard down, huh? You can't even get near enough to the generator to knock it down." 

"We can't just leave the the others." 

"We don't have a choice. It's us or them. You know are days are numbered. As soon as those kids are able to do our tasks, we're dead. You know it and so do I," B'Elanna said, reaching out and grabbing his shoulders. "Look at this place, Harry. Look out the window. What do you see?" 

Harry went to stand near the railing of the second story tower they were on. High above the training ground, he could clearly see row after row of small children running through the moves of tai chi. Tuvok had said on several occasions that it is the building block of martial arts. 

"By the time they are done, they'll be just like us only they want to serve the Kamien Order. They're..." 

"...training killing machines," Harry said, finishing her thought. 

B'Elanna crossed her arms and came to stand beside him. "The army that commandeered Voyager was all Kamien. The workers in The Yard were not Replicas. Where do you think all these kids go, Harry? Where do you think we'll go when we've served our purpose? Think about it...we've seen what they do to their own when they fail." 

"A generation of disposable people." he said, swallowing hard. 

A long pause ensured while each mulled over their thoughts. It was Harry that broke it. "You're right. We have to get out of here, but an out and out assault isn't going to work. We'd all end up dead." 

"What do you have in mind then?" 

"We'll use their own creation against them, and we'll all get out of here in one form or another..." 

* * *

The lights within the medical bay were unusually bright when Tom woke up the next morning. He sat up, running a hand through his hair, pausing to note that it was remarkably short. His hands them went to his face; the beard was gone. Looking down, he realized he had a brand new uniform on. 

"I never thought that the afterlife would involve Starfleet," he mumbled. 

"On the contrary, Mr. Paris, you are not dead." 

"Who are you? Where's the Doc?" Tom asked, startled. 

"Don't be frightened. My name is Tanari. I am a doctor...of sorts. Your Holographic Doctor is in one of our science labs running...tests. He will be back shortly. I assure you; if he did not trust me, he would not have left the surgical bay willingly." 

"Your the one that came to our cell?" Tom puzzled together and watched the man standing beside his biobed nod. "Kathryn? Where is she?" 

"She's being cleaning up a bit by one of my nurses. We've adapted your sonic shower technique into all biobeds. It is quiet efficient for cleaning blood off of victims. 

"Glad to know that we were of some service," Tom said, not attempting to hide the malice in his voice. 

"Contrary to your own belief, Mr. Paris, not all Kamiens are fond of the means in which we obtain things we need." 

"Spare me," he said, looking down at the tube running into his arm. "What the...an intraveinous solution?" 

"Old Earth medicine. Your doctor suggested it. Unfortunately, both you and the captain were so underweight that the standard approach of nutritional supplementation would not work. Because your bodies are not accustomed to standard Kamien dishes, and we do not have a stable energy source for your replicator technology, we were forced to use this method." 

Tom gave the Kamien man a glare that belied the question that immediately came to mind. 

"Oh, I assure you, Mr. Paris, it is only there to administer vitamins and minerals that your body was lacking." 

"Why are you treating just the captain and I?" 

"Perhaps I should answer that," Talken said, stepping forward. "It is our belief that seeing your captain alive gives many of her crew the will to keep going. Having her dead would only hasten their demise, and we need the workers." 

"And me?" 

"There is the obvious fact that you were part of the senior staff and that you are, in a way, an authority figure. Also, we cannot ignore the fact that you and the captain have become...close over the past few months. It is our belief that your loss would encourage her to give up. That fact was confirmed when you perished first during your execution. Approximately .076 seconds after she noticed you had, in fact, stopped breathing, she fell unconscious. 2.76 seconds later, she too was clinically dead. This dependence on others intrigues me, Mr. Paris. The Kamien society do not hold such bonds. Every member is expendable as another man with equal intelligence and skills can be reproduced within a short amount of time." 

"Yeah...well humans aren't expendable like the plates you eat off of or the bed you sleep on," Tom responded. His mind fixating on what this Talken had just said. 

"How so, Mr. Paris?" 

"No two can ever be created that are exactly the same. The experiences we live through that make us who we are." 

"The Monareans for example? Do you regret the act? Your personal log indicates not." 

"My only regret is letting down the people that I love and trust." 

"But they trusted you not to act so brash and yet you used their own trust against them." 

"To err is human, to forgive divine," Janeway retorted, as she was wheeled into the room. "It's true Tom has made his fair share of mistakes. We all have, but it is within human nature to forgive the ones we love." 

Both men turned to look at the ghost like figure. Her arms and legs were wrapped in a white linen presumably to protect the still healing skin from bright lights and bacteria that floated through in the surgical bay. From beneath the lightweight blanket that covered her form, an IV's plastic tubule extended towards the stainless steel clip above her head. Tom couldn't help but note that the scars on her face were gone, her hair had regained its shine, and she looked less gaunt than he remembered. 

"And yet your literature and history is filled with images of revenge," Talken replied to Kathryn. 

"Yes, it is, but our people have found that violence is not always the answer." 

"Was violence the only answer when you beat that guard to death, Mr. Paris?" Talken asked, smiling as both paled. "Don't worry; he was of little value to The Committee. In fact, his replacement is being sent tomorrow morning." 

"How did you know?" 

"Part of making workers more efficient is understanding their nature. This interaction, though unplanned, was highly informative. We tend to watch all of you as you work." 

"If you don't mind me asking, Captain, why is it that you never pursued a relationship with your commander? Was your relationship with Mark what was standing in the way or was it fear of losing another love like Justin that kept you from it?" 

"Since you seem to have read all of our personal logs then you already know the answer." 

"Not in so many words, but yes. I just find it somewhat odd that a woman that enjoys compartmentalizing her emotions towards male companions would so openly show affection for a member of her crew. A member which, according to your own records, you would not approach out of some since of duty to maintaining decorum. Unless you are doing what you need to do to survive... 

"Mr. Neelix speaks to young Tanari at great length about the need for human contact in order to survive. Is that what you and Mr. Paris are doing when he is telling you all these stories late at night? Has this imaginary world he has created somehow altered your perception of reality to such an extent that you two have developed feelings for each other? I ask because I was able to overhear the conversation you two held at the gallows. I believe you wished that this false world Mr. Paris painted for you was, in fact, happening. Would you have accepted his advances aboard Voyager? Clearly not given what you had written in your journals. Yet, you accept them here. In fact, when you were both about to die, Mr. Paris was about to tell you that he loved you, isn't that correct, Mr. Paris?" 

"You bastard," Tom said, slipping off his biobed. His fists were already clinched and ready to strike. 

"Tom," Kathryn warned, then, turning towards Talken said, "I'm not sure what you hope to accomplish here. Since you so clearly have the answers all figured out, why bother asking us at all?" 

"Talkin," Tanari said evenly. "I believe that I asked you not to upset either of the patients. Given their conditions, I would ask, humbly and with great respect, that you would suspend your questioning until their health is improved." 

Talken paused and then moved towards the door. "You are a puzzle shrouded in a mystery, Kathryn Janeway. Most puzzling indeed. I shall enjoy speaking to you both in the future. Until then." 

* * *

Kenoshia returned to The Yard just as the last bits of the twin suns sunk behind the mountain. Twilight was upon the camp and flood lights marked the landing strip in the center of the compound. A large spot light followed the descent, and, upon touch down, two guards came to greet and assist the lead guard from the shuttle.

"Where is Tumeric? I must speak with him immediately," Kenoshia said, stepping out from the main body of the shuttle and jumping on the earth below.

"He is in his meditation chamber. Shall I announce you?" The young guard asked, his eyes downcast.

"No. I will go alone."

"But, sir, that is a breech of protocol. You will be killed."

"I will be dead soon anyway."

Kenoshia walked purposely into the tower and climbed onto the lift. He arrived, unannounced at Tumeric's personal apartment and knocked. The haggard looking leader opened the door. Rather than greeting Kenoshia with a strong reprimand for breaking protocol, he merely stepped back and bid him entrance.

"What did you find?"

"They weren't brought there. In fact, the Flyer never went anywhere near that building yesterday or any time this week."

"Then where is it?"

"It took me a great deal of time to track its final location, but I was able to learn that it was acquired for use this week by..." 

"Kairon," Tumeric growled.

"Yes, sir, how did you know?"

"Lucky guess. I want you to contact Gepek, the Liaison to the Industrial Order, and tell him I need to speak with him. I'll see if I can't get to the bottom of this." 

* * *

"What did you make of that?" Tom asked, sitting on a stool beside her wheelchair. 

Kathryn gave a long pause before responding. Her eyes were locked on the gardens just outside the surgical bay's window. "I'm not sure. He seemed to know more about both of us than anyone else we've met here, but there was more to his questions that just passing curiosity. Given the amount of information that he had, I would wager they have this entire compound covered in surveillance equipment." 

"That would explain how they've trapped so many people trying to escape, but what about that guard? You and I discussed it in our cell, but I didn't explain how it had happened. They would have had to be watching both places." 

"It stands to reason that the guards here and Tumeric aren't privy to what is said though. Otherwise they would have known who had killed the guard without asking me to pick numbers." 

"But why keep the guards and Tumeric in the dark about it?" 

"Maybe they are also watching the guards and him. Be a good way to make sure everyone was complying with orders." 

"It would make sense. If there is one thing that I have noticed it is that the guards are paranoid and suspicious." 

"Wouldn't you be if you are so easily replaced?" Kathryn said. 

"I like to think of myself as irreplaceable, Kathryn," Tom said, laughing. 

She stiffened. "Tom, we need to talk about what he said..." 

"I thought we already were," he said, then seeing her serious expression added, "Look. The past few months we've been through more than I ever imagined I would be. It's only natural to cling on to someone familiar. We've grown to be codependent... that's all." 

"I wish it were that simple, but I don't think it is," she said, straightening her spine against the back of her seat. Tom couldn't help but miss the captain's tone her voice had taken on. "A large portion of me meant what I said on the gallows, and I suspect you meant what you said as well." 

"Forget it. It was a death bed confession. You can't hold it against me," Tom said, trying to lighten the mood. 

Ignoring what he had said, she pressed on. "He was right when he said that I tended to compartmentalize the relationships I had with those on my ship. I saw Chakotay as a friend and a confidante. I also saw him as my first officer, but never allowed myself to consider him in any other light. I knew that Chakotay loved me, but I also knew that I could control him..." 

She paused while she cleared her throat and regained her control. It was a vein attempt to hide the quiver in her voice. Tom noted the way she referred to everyone, save the doctor, in past tense. She'd never done it before. It had always been present or future. His eyes followed hers as she turned her head towards the window, peering out into the mountains. Twilight would be nearing soon. The nights had grown steadily chilly. Winter months were descending with a vengeance. 

"Out of all the relationships I had on Voyager, none were as confusing and potentially dangerous as the one I hold with you." 

"Kathryn, you don't have to...," Tom interrupted. 

"I know," she said, turning to offer the ghost of a smile, "but, on the off chance the Doctor can't perform another miracle in the future, I want you to understand what this...our relationship has meant to me." 

Tom lowered his head for a moment, but remained quiet. 

"On the ship, you were a pressure valve. You were the only one I knew that could both irritate me and make me laugh at the same time. I suppose that's why I let you get away with all those jokes on the bridge. Sometimes, when I was having a rough week, I would intentionally try and run into on the holodeck. Games of pool, drinks- anything to take my mind off of work. 

"Over time, I realized that I was spending too much time with you off duty. Particularly when Chakotay informed me that the rumor mill was buzzing. I withdrew, figuring that the crew morale was more important." 

"I had always assumed that all of that was because something happened on New Earth." 

"No," Kathryn said, slowly shaking her head. "If anything, that planet gave me clarity of mind. I had weeks with nothing to do but think." 

"And?" 

"One night, while I was still on that planet, I was working late...as always... and Chakotay began massaging my shoulders. I couldn't help but think that his hands were too large. I didn't think much of it at the time. In fact, I catalogued it as being the work of an overtired mind. 

"Then, when the plasma storm that destroyed all my scientific materials hit, he covered me under the main table, and I couldn't help but think that he weighted too much, the shoulders were too broad. Each were passing thoughts thought. I pushed them aside like another odd idea that flashed through my mind." 

Kathryn said, not turning her gaze from the window. She'd ceased to see the outdoors or anything else for that matter. Her mind was too clouded with though. Her features were hard as she tried to keep her body from betraying her emotions. 

"Then, a week later, we went for a walk along the riverside. He stopped me half way back to the shelter to rest. He was talking about our future on New Earth, and I kept mentioning how I missed Voyager. We got into this rather heated debate and, rather than fighting with me, he kissed me. Just the whisper of a kiss, but, in that second," she said, turning toward him, "I saw your face instead of his." 

"Why didn't you say anything?" Tom asked, meeting her gaze. 

"Like I said, Tom; my relationship with you was and still is a field of landmines. When I returned, it was obvious that you and B'Elanna were growing closer. I also had Chakotay's emotions as well as the crew's well being to consider. What would they think if I became involved with a member of my senior staff? Any member of the crew for that matter. They would assume that I would give them preferential treatment. Every 'easy' punishment, every promotion in rank, every moment I would spent on the holodeck, every replicator ration either one of us used would be scrutinized." 

"You don't give the crew enough credit. They would have gotten used to the idea with time." 

"Time is a luxury I didn't have on Voyager. I needed to be focused solely on getting us home. I didn't need... distractions." 

"So that's what this is? A _distraction_ to keep your mind off of this place. Talken was right? Come on, Kathryn, define the parameters of our relationship so that I know how I can overstep the bounds. After all that is the Tom Paris way," he said, bitterly. 

"You've misunderstood me," she said, shaken. 

"Then please enlighten me." 

"When I was on that ship, I had to protect all of them. I had all of them to consider first. It was a single-minded quest that consumed every waking moment. Every trade, every scan, every peace treaty was all to help us get home. Taking care of my own needs was a luxury." 

"There were over a hundred of us on that ship that were there to help. You didn't need to feel like you were holding all the pieces together," Tom said, softening his tone. 

"You're right. I didn't, but I felt guilty for stranding us here. When we were trapped on New Earth, when we were trapped in The Void all I could think about was the guilt." 

"You weren't avoiding it because you thought it was a luxury. You were avoiding it to punish yourself," Tom whispered. 

Kathryn allowed her shoulders to droop. She crossed her arms in front of her and nodded her head slowly. 

"What made you change here?" 

"After taking down so many bodies from those gallows...after transporting corpses to the crematorium...after being near starvation for months, living off of the crumbs you steal from others that aren't members of your own crew...after realizing that there was no escape... I...I just felt empty. A tiny part of me wanted to die every time I saw one of my people get killed. Then, one morning, they killed two people at roll call for no apparent reason. My first thought wasn't of horror or loss. For a split second, I caught myself praying neither you nor I would be the next one they killed." 

"It's a natural reaction," Tom said, trying to comfort her. Kathryn pulled away and turned her gaze to the ceiling. 

"Not for me. I am supposed to place my life after those of every other member of my crew." 

"There is no Voyager any more. The ship is long since gone. You've known that for some time. You just haven't been willing to admit it." 

"No, Tom," she said, turning towards him again. "The problem is that I already have. It started out simple enough. I should have recognized the symptoms right away." 

"And what might those be?" Tom asked, crossing his arms. 

"I allowed myself to show weakness. To be swept up into this fantasy world were I was in love with you. Escapism in its most primal form." 

"It kept us both alive." 

"They problem is that it moved into reality. It blurred the line of where protocol began and luxury ended. If I needed proof it certainly was there on those gallows." 

"I guess that is the difference between us, Kathryn. I meant what I said up there and every other word of this so called fantasy world." 

"We're more alike than you think. I meant what I said up there, too. I knew what you were going to say when Tumeric pulled the lever." 

"And?" 

She closed her eyes, battling against the tears that were forming. She felt them burning a path down her cheeks, but made no move to wipe them.

"I was thinking the same thing." 

"So what's stopping you now from saying it?" 

"There's no future in it." 

"No future in it?" 

"Look around you, Tom. What can we hope to gain by falling in love? A longer life?" 

"Two minutes alive knowing that you feel the same way is better than a lifetime of hiding behind protocol. I think you're just afraid." 

"Afraid? You're damn right I'm afraid. Every day we go out into The Yard is another day that you could get killed. It's why I didn't allow myself to fall in love on Voyager and it's why I won't here," she said turning her face towards him, eyes watering. 

"But you already have," Tom said, quietly, standing behind her, stroking her hair like he had done on so many nights. 

"I won't let you do this," she said, struggling in vein to get away. 

"Do what? Tell you that I love you? Guess what. I already have." 

"There is no future in this," she repeated. 

"It might not be the way you expect it, but it's here none the less, Kathryn. Besides, I seem to recall someone saying a few weeks before that, if we got out of being hanged, I might just get lucky." 

Kathryn laughed. "Mr. Paris, you have a one track mind." 

"But I thought that's why you loved me...Mrs. Paris," he said smirking. 

* * *

The Doctor made his rounds again. This time stopping at the hallway Beta Voyager Training Grounds. It was meant to be the place where the Replicas learned the life skills that couldn't be taught by the memory engrams given to them by the Kamien. Stopping before the first door, he waited for the standard scanner to activate. 

"Recognize AV-008. Welcome, Doctor." The computer said as it allowed him access. 

As he entered, he saw Tuvok sitting before a small row of children. Miniature versions of himself, Vorik, and Ensign T'Nell. 

Between the children and Tuvok sat his meditation lamp. It was one of the few luxury items they allowed him to have as it was part of his culture. Just as they had allowed Chakotay his medicine bundle and Harry his clarinet. 

"Doctor," Commander Tuvok said, rising from the floor. 

"Good evening, children. It is time for your weekly injections, and then off to bed for all of you."

"How far will they be developed after this shot?" Harry called over from his grouping in the far corner. 

"Approximately six years of age...give or take. Why?"

"And you'll be starting the maturation process at 12, right?"

"Yes, but..."

Harry nodded. "So about six weeks left then?"

"Yes, is there a reason for asking, Ensign, or are you actually taking an interest in medical science?"

"Instrument sizes will have to be upgraded for some when they are older. The violin for one," he lied, hoping the Doc wouldn't call him on it. 

* * *

One week after they had been brought into The Farm, Tom was released to the new, incredibly small quarters that he was to share with Kathryn. Compared to their old cell, it was spacious, but, the rather large furnishings dwarfed the diminsions. Everything was in shades of gray- the natural color of the woods, metals, and fibers on this planet. On some levels it was appropriate to how he felt- a mixture of mourning colors and purity. Purity of mind and emotions that came from having nothing but them and bone crushing work to deal with for nearly a year. 

The room seemed empty without her. Time passed slowly in his little cabin. He had no work to do for the first time in ages, and he was virtually alone. The Doctor had insisted on it. He said that they both needed time to heal and that his presence in sickbay would only lead to trouble. So, Tom sat, alone, with nothing to do but stare at the walls, sleep, and feel utterly useless except for the brief time he spent with Kathryn. 

Kathryn, on the other hand, spent her days in sickbay going through rigorous physical therapy to regain the some use of her hands and legs. Most of her wounds had been third degree burns. The doctor was forced to remove the charred flesh and muscle and rebuild them using replicated tissues. When he had finished the graft, he wrapped them in sterile gauze. As a punishment for not warning the guards of the Kazon attack, G'tan forbid the Doctor to administer any pain killers. Few waking moments were spent in any emotion other than agony. She had, however, grown accustomed to the pain. At least the pain she could block out, but the dependency on others was not something she enjoyed. Until her fractured pelvis had time to heal, she was wheeled everywhere she needed to go, namely the gardens near the surgical bay and, after she was released from sickbay, the quarters that she shared with Tom.

The gardens on the property and the greenhouses beyond were controlled environments in which new strains of plant life where tested. The idea was to grow a hybrid plant from materials collected on captured ships to create food sources that could withstand both the brutal winters and summers on Kamien. Kathryn spent a great deal of time pouring over the data, finding it a fascinating study and a means to occupy her time between treatments.

They were her great escape. When she had had enough of the Doctor or when the pain got to her too much, Tom would wheel her out there. Sometimes they would speak, other times they would sit in mutual silence, but neither complained about the new freedoms they were given. 

One afternoon, not more than a day before Kathryn was to finally be released from sickbay, the two adjured to their secret garden. They sat in silence for a long moment until Tom got his nerve up to speak. He'd noticed the far away gleam her eyes had gotten as of late. Though he didn't want to broach the subject, he knew that it was inevitable.

"You think about it a lot, don't you?"

She jumped at the sound of his voice as if she hadn't expected it. Drawing in a breath, she turned towards him. "Think about what?"

"The fire... nearly dying for the second time."

She sighed. Sometimes he could be the jester and others he was so humorless and direct that it stung. "Was it only the second time? I must have lost count."

Tom reached over and took her hand in his, giving it a squeeze. "Which did you see? The lightness or the dark?"

Kathryn paused for a long minute. She hadn't expected him to be so blunt. Then again, he had become her confessor of sorts. "The first time...I saw this blinding bright light," she said, swallowing hard. "It really was magnificant, but it was gone quickly."

"And the other night?"

"That was so different. My life literally flashed before me eyes, but, when it was over..."

Her voice trailed off. Tom looked over at her to find her head lowered towards her chest. He reached out carefully and lifted her chin him. "When it was over?"

"There was nothing but darkness. This black cloud that surrounded my conscious thought," she said closing her eyes, feeling so close to crying. "And there was no pain. No regret. Complete and total nothingness, and I didn't want to leave it. I felt like I was ripped from the very depths of it and forced back here. I felt my body being shocked, felt the air enter my lungs, and the only thing that I could think was how much I wanted that darkness back."

She looked over at him, eyes brimming with tears. His face flashed briefly with pain and then he quelled it to be replaced with an understanding smile. "At least you saw the light once. At least there was nothing in the darkness with you. Just meant you were ready to move on. That whole life in a flash, light at the end of the tunnel...I never saw it." 

"What do you mean?" she said, her eyes narrowing.

"I've never told anyone this, but, during Caldick Prime, I nearly died," he said, licking his lips and then continuing. "It was this shapeless mass that chased me in the darkness. It taunted me with every wrong I had done in my life and then let me see, first hand, what I had done that day."

Kathryn paused to gaze at him. His eyes were locked onto the shrubs just beyond, but not focusing on them. Sighing, she turned to look out on them as well. 

"It haunts you- their faces. Like a sculpture they're etched forever in your mind in minute detail. Just when you think you've moved passed them, they come back in vivid dreams, but you can't spend the rest of your life trying to atone for a mistake, Tom." 

"Seven years on the straight and narrow can't erase two decades of unconscionable acts." 

"Believe me; you will never be able to balance the check and minus columns. I've tried. It doesn't make the nightmares stop. If anything, it will make them worse." 

Tom turned to look at her, noting the far away look on her face. He instantly regreting bringing up his shuttle accident. Feeling the play of emotions in the air, Kathryn laughed harshly. "You lost your career and the respect of your father and I lost my father, my fiance, and my self-respect. Tough call on who wins that one." 

"You didn't spent time in the New Zealand penal colony with a cell mate who liked it rough," Tom quipped. 

Kathryn sobered. "Did it..." she started, but lost her voice. 

"Did it what? Make me feel any better? Probably about as much as this place does for your guilt. It give me time to take stock of what I had, what I have. It forced me to grow up, but it also made me hard. Took a long time for me to trust anyone." 

"What about Harry?" 

"Harry was different. He was so green and innocent I knew he couldn't lie. He stuck with me and called me his friend even after that first officer of yours gave him 'The Talk.'" 

Kathryn arched an eyebrow but said nothing. Tom continued. "You know I was firmly convinced that I could corrupt him. Some of the things I got that kid to do...," He laughed. 

A pause ensued as each were lost in their own thoughts. Kathryn sighed loudly. "I suppose it's the little moments you take for granted. The ones that add up to form a general memory about a place or person." She paused to gauge his reaction then stumbled ahead. "This place for instance. I hate this planet, but this garden..." 

"I see what you mean." Tom said, musing at the idea that Kathryn always found the good in everything including 'The Farm.' He, on the other hand, had come to think of The Farm as a separate level of hell. Not long after he been moved to his quarters, he was let in on the atrocious experiments that the scientists there had done. His first indoctrination came in the way of a flight simulator that the Kamien soldiers had brought into the room adjacent to his. G'tan has said it was a gift, but strongly advised him to use it. When Tom had spent more time helping Kathryn recuperate than practicing his skill, the Doctor made a special appearance. 

He pulled Tom aside in the garden, leaving Kathryn to speak with one of the scientists about the newest grain trials. Tom couldn't help but notice the grim expression on the hologram's face as he began to speak.

"I wish this was a social call, but it isn't." 

"Oh?"

"Do you recall when I first brought her here? I told you that the less you knew the better."

"Yeah, I do. Why? What's this about," Tom said, crossing his arms in a protective stance.

"The Kamien are big on people complying to their demands. Apparently, you haven't."

"Is this about the flight simulator? I promise I'll work on it more once Kathryn is up and about."

"Kairon feels that you need more....incentive. He's asked me to show you around the complex," the Doctor said, lowering his head.

"I thought you said that the less I knew the better."

The Doctor merely nodded and motioned towards the garden door. "I'll be waiting inside. Tanari will take good care of her; he's one of the few Kamien I've come to trust...on some level."

As if on cue, Tanari exited through the surgical bay door, nodded at Tom, and made his way to stand at Kathryn's side. He mumbled something to her, she laughed and cast a smile at Tom. Still uneasy, he joined the Doctor in the main hall.

Tom was lead slowly through the twisting corridors of The Farm by The Doctor, who was careful to pass by all the rooms that needed to seen, starting with those that did not survive. 

The room was bathed in a yellowish light and reeked of embalming fluid. Slowly, as Tom's eyes adjusted to the darker light, both were able to fully see the room. 

It was a virtual warehouse of tiny corpses, each one frozen in their last position -- gaping holes were left in their chests served as a grim reminder of the complete autopsy the Doctor had been ordered into performing. Each organ was removed, studied, and preserved in a plethora of smaller glass containers placed beside each pickled creature. 

Those children's corpses that lined the walls next to the door were the trials to create human life using Kamien technology. Those closest to them were the first trials-- lumpy masses with horrible birth defects, missing limbs or one too many, misshapen bodies-- they were half beast/half man. 

"They were the lucky ones," The Doctor explained. 

"Lucky how?" he asked, eyes gazing toward the wall of carnage. 

"They didn't survive long enough to really suffer." 

"Don't tell me..." 

The Doctor nodded slowly. "I was permitted to end the suffering of the humanoids that survived- the ones that were the worst off anyhow. Some still live. They are at varying level of dependency," he explained, leading Tom towards the hall of The Mistakes. "Some are only mildly retarded... others are sever profound...another group is near catatonic. Then there are those with sound minds but their bodies..." 

As they neared the hall, the Doctor allowed his explanation to drift off. Words were not needed as the senses spoke volumes. The stench of this place was one that Tom would never forget. He stopped, an icy chill running down his spine. A large part of his mind was screaming at him to run away and never look back at this place, but he had to know. 

They approached one of the windows and Tom peered in to see a creature sitting on the hard, cement flooring, staring into the gray, padded wall across from it. The misshapen body reminded him of the pictures he had seen as of child of the Elephant Man. It sat there, in the center of the room, in a puddle of its own waste. The flesh of it resembled that of dark chocolate, and, when it turned towards the sound of voices in the hall, Tom could see that his other ear was pointed like that of a Vulcan. 

"In attempting to mix DNA, they inadvertently turned a few genetic switches that they shouldn't have," the Doctor explained. 

Tom could feel the bile begin to rise in his throat. He backed away from the window and placed his hand against the cold, white surface of the wall for support. 

Suddenly, a harsh line of conclusion came to him. Like the weight of a thousand deaths under his command, the reality of the moment came to him. So repulsed by deduction, he had trouble forming the thoughts let alone speak them aloud. 

"They were successful, weren't they?" 

The Doctor merely nodded and pointed towards his left. Through half a dozen more hallways, the pair walked past the macabre parade of disfigured creatures until the smell of The Mistakes finally left Tom's sense of smell. Mentally, he sighed with relief. 

They came to stop in front of a door that read "Nursery" above the lintel. A fluorescent, green beam swept from the base of the door to the top and down again. A dry, monotone voice echoed through his ears, "Recognize AV-008. Welcome Doctor. Recognized AV-004. Welcome, Lieutenant Thomas Eugene Paris." The door to the room slid open slowly, and both men entered. 

"AV-004?" Tom said, turning towards his 'tour guide.' 

"Alpha Voyager 004. It is your designation, according to the computer. Alpha meaning that you are an original crew member. Voyager is the ship's name, and the number is in reference to your ranking on the ship. The Captain is 001, Chakotay is 002, Tuvok is 003..." 

"Got you." 

Tom began to walk down the line of cribs turned child beds until he stopped in front of one that bore the number BV-004. "Let me guess- Beta Voyager 004 is a miniature version of myself." 

"There is more to this than just that." 

"You mean it gets worse? You know, you really know how to spoil a guy's day, Doc," Tom said, trying to make light of the situation. 

"Third from the right, first row, near the rocking chair," the hologram said, evenly. 

Tom walked the few steps towards the aforementioned crib, and read the tag on the front. "GV-001: Hope. Gamma Voyager?" 

"The first child created from the DNA of two of the crew." 

"Shouldn't that be Naomi?" 

"Created from two of the _Voyager_crew." 

"I don't understand," Tom said, not willing to draw this conclusion. 

The Doctor closed the distance between he and Tom and placed his hand on the pilot's shoulder. "Look in the bassinet," he said softly. 

Tom looked down to find a small, toothless grin to greet him. She had deep blue-gray eyes and auburn hair. Hope giggled when she saw the giant towering over her crib, and threw her arms in the air towards him. On reflex, he stepped away and looked up at the Doctor. At a loss to say anything, he repeated the obvious. 

"Don't tell me that she's my child." 

For his credit, he replied with just a simple nod rather than a pithy remark. "She is you're child. Yours and the Captain's. She is one of a handful of second generation children created to insure that her parents, when brought in on the little secret, would agree to educate your replicas without taking any action against the Kamien government. Should you or the Captain step out of line, they will kill the child." 

"That's one hell of an insurance policy...I can't believe you would just go along with this willingly, Doc." 

"I was told I would have to or be decomplied. At least, in this capacity, I can ease the suffering of my ship mates," the Doctor said. 

"Who else knows about this?" 

"Chakotay, Tuvok, Neelix, B'Elanna, and Harry all know bits and pieces. Neelix and Tuvok more than any other. They know about the second generation children. The others will not be revealed until it is deemed necessary, and only when both parents are brought here which can be tricky considering the fact that we have to kill them first..." 

"What?" 

"Few people in the government know about this place let alone the general public. That's why I had to disguise myself as Tumeric to get you and the Captain out of there." 

"So why tell me everything now? And why not Kathryn? 

"Slow down, Mr. Paris. They told you because they need you to train their Replicas. I could also use a lab assistant, but only if you are able. As to why they haven't told Kathryn, they believe that it would be best that _you_ told her when she has recovered more." 

"Fair enough, but why keep the child as an insurance policy? Why not use Kathryn and I against each other?" 

"That one should be obvious. The Kamien recognize that your talents as a pilot are hard to duplicate. Kathryn's skills as a leader and a scientist make both your lives worth more than the child's." 

"There are assuming that this child is going force us into helping them? She is _not_ my child. She might have our DNA, but I had nothing to do with her creation." 

"Need I remind you that you had little to do with the creation of your first set of children with the intrepid Kathryn Janeway? Have you stopped to consider what she would have to say if little Hope was killed because her father wouldn't accept her?" Kairon said, stepping in from the corridor. 

"You bastard." Tom stepped forward a pace, but was stopped by The Doctor. 

"Temper, temper, Mr. Paris. Have you ever been curious as to why we placed you and the captain in the same confined area? Hm...not quick with some biting quip I see?" Kairon said, approaching Hope's crib. "You see, Paris, both you and the Captain had quite a few long entries alluding to some deep seeded feelings you harbored for each other. You see, the Captain felt responsible for you. She saw you not as some pet project but as a man in such pain that he had to hide how he really felt through humor. She knew that, by keeping people laughing, they were less likely to hurt you. You, on the other hand, have gone through a variety of emotions regarding her: anger, hate, lust. You knew you had this irrational notion that you had to prove yourself to her because she had, in your opinion, helped to redeem you." 

Kairon pulled Hope into his arms and stepped towards Tom. "Talken and I have been watching the pair of you or, at least, were. We know the odd connection that was formed. I also know that, should you two ever escape this place, Janeway would dissolve any bonds you had formed to focus on getting her crew home." 

The Kamien stepped closer still, holding the child out for Tom to take. "The child that you hold is a legacy. She forever binds your life to your beloved Kathryn's. However shocked she might be when she first learns the truth, she will grow to love both this child and you. You two can build a life on Kamien that you never thought possible. Ironic isn't it? That you owe your happiness to a man and a planet you have grown to despise?" 

With that, the ornately dressed Kairon walked quickly towards the door and exited into the stark white hallway. The Doctor made his excuses and left the room to give Tom time to think. He sat down into the rocking chair near Hope's crib and regarded the girl...his child...for he first time. 

Tom felt his heart sink. The tiny, gray-eyed cherub reached out a chubby little hand and gripped onto his uniform. His eye traveled to the tuft of auburn hair at the crown of her head then down to the colorful outfit that Neelix had, no doubt, had made for her. It was a small jumper in primary shades of yellow, blue, and red. Her feet were covered with small, white socks. Gripping the child closer to his chest, he began to rock back and forth. 

"Hello, Hope," he whispered to the child as she began to fall into a peaceful asleep. Her father, on the other hand, held her for hours, his mind in turmoil. 

TBC: 

_"But you could die just as easily on Voyager. Both you and Tom were bridge officers which placed both of you in danger every day. I believe the unresolved issue behind your reluctancy deals with the answer to one question-- do you love Mr. Paris or is this just all an illusion?"_

_Kathryn sighed, folding her hands in her lap. "If you asked me a few months back when we were still in our cell at The Yard, I might have said yes, but now I don't know."_

***

_"Don't you find it a little odd, Tuvok? They create a group of being superior to the originals, and yet they don't make them look like their own kind? They repair our ship, claiming that they are going to add it to their fleet when every last vessel that attacked us looked the same... It just doesn't make any sense."_

_"History dictates that not every planetary government reveals the true nature of their military projects..not only to avoid political outcries but also to protect the citizens involved."_

Home 


	9. Part IX

  
  


"Let be be finale of seem."

Stevens, _The Emperor of Ice Cream_

Part IX 

He walked through the winding, darkened streets of the capital making sure that he wasn't followed. The information that he'd gathered that afternoon and downloaded into the tiny PADD that he was carrying was damning, and the actions that he was about to take would count as treason if Kairon's men caught up to him before he delivered the information to Gepek. 

The weather was violent that night. The winds were gusting at gale force. Wrapping his coat around his large frame, he continued down the sidewalk, careful to melt into the shadows provided by the streetlights. In the distance, the Industrial Order's main complex loomed. He could only vaugely recall what the building looked like. He knew he had been created here, programmed here, but the only time that he had been permitted to see the exterior was when he was being delivered to The Yard. There, he had served for the last seven years, never leaving the grounds he'd been created to work on, never questioning any orders he'd been given... until the Voyager Project was started.

"G'tan Tumeric?"

"What's it to you?" He asked turning towards the sound of the gruff voice.

"I understand that you have some information for me," the man said, stepping from the darkened doorway of the complex's security gate. 

"Gepek?"

"No..." the voice said, softly. The sentence was never completed. A single shot echoed through the narrow alley despite the silencer that had been attached to the barrel.

"Your timing is impeccable, Kenoshia," G'tan said, chuckling. "A moment later and I would have been food for the ovens."

The two of them drug the man's body into the light cast from the street lamp.

"Well...well... would you look at this? Kairon sent his lap dog to play fetch," Kenoshia said, emptying the dead man's pockets. To the local authorities, it would look like a simple robbery gone wrong. To Kairon, the DNA traces left would be enough to identify who had done the deed and send a clear message-- Tumeric wasn't the simpleton that his creators had thought that he was. 

A siren blared in the distance. "The authorities are coming. Time to get to the complex, sir."

"In a moment, Kenoshia, I want to capture this moment."

The elder man stood, gazing down at the body. It was a valiant moment for him knowing that he had killed a man- a superior- without being told to do so, and knowing that he would not be cancelled for his transgression filled him with a euphoria he had never experienced before.

"But, sir..." Kenoshia protested. They were standing in direct line of sight from several of the surrounding buildings. Anyone with a window facing this street could clearly make out their faces in the street lamps. Murder was still a punishable offense in the private sector. The Industrial Order would deny all knowledge of their status as members. It had happened before. They'd both been called in from time to time to deal with the accused. 

Giving a sidelong gaze to his commanding officer, Kenoshia sighed. They would not be leaving immediately. He took a single step backward and blended into the shadows, scanning the rooflines for any snipers the Industrial Order may have dispatched.

"You and I were once no one. Both easily replaceable. Not much better than the man that served under us. We were just given slightly more training. Something like this... what Kairon did and is doing... it would be enough for us to be cancelled," he said, rising to his feet, meeting Kenoshia's gaze evenly. "Don't you see? We killed a superior, and no one will ever know. We have power over all of them, and I think that it's time for a change.

§Ø§

Tom sat with the small child in his arms so long he had lost all sense of time. Never in his life had he been at such a loss of what to do. Watching her tiny chest rise and fall, her eyes move rapidly in REM sleep just beneath the delicate eyelids, he felt a lump rise in his throat. A child...his child...lay in his arms, and the experience was horribly tainted. 

In the distance, the nursery door opened, hesitant footsteps approached the far end of the room where he sat. Even without looking up Tom knew who it was- the same person that sought out lost souls on Voyager. 

"Is there anything I can get you, Tom?" The voice said so softly. 

"No, Neelix. I'm..." he said, looking down at the child in his arms, "we're both okay," he amended. 

"Why don't I believe that?" 

Tom's eyebrow shot up at the comment, but he didn't say anything. He acknowledged that everyone had changed since they had first arrived. Neelix was no exception. The Talaxian had fallen into a familiar pattern- do what is necessary to survive. At least he made the attempt to keep friendships alive. 

"I wish Kes was here. She'd know what to do...say in this situation." 

"Not to mention blow a hole right through the complex," Tom said, chuckling. Neelix joined him. 

"She would probably say that I was being selfish. That I should consider Hope before myself because she's a totally helpless innocent in all of this." 

"And she would be right." 

"But good intentions aren't enough to raise a child. Believe me; I know," Tom said, rising from the rocking chair and returning the child to her crib, amazed that she didn't start crying. He returned to his seat, leaned forward, and raked his hands through his hair. 

Anger, boarding on rage, and sadness marred Tom's features as he paused long enough to reign in the emotions coloring his voice. "I grew up in a household where my parents would fight constantly- mostly about me. That was when they were actually home. Most of the time it was just my sisters and I and the housekeeper. 

"I'd go over to friend's houses and see how in love their parents were. How proud they were of the awards that they'd won, and I would be so jealous. I wasn't stupid; I knew my parents only stayed together for appearance's sake. That the expected me to make top marks, win all the awards, graduate from Starfleet..." Tom started, burying his face in his hands as tears began to well in his eyes. This was yet another thing he had picked up from his father-- grown men don't cry. They don't reveal any emotion. Emotions are weaknesses that can be used to your enemy's advantage. 

"And be exactly like your father-- straight up the ranks, not stopping until you were an admiral." Neelix finished. 

"The whole time that I was in that house I promised myself my children wouldn't be raised in a household like that. " 

"And you're afraid that you and the Captain would have that sort of relationship?" 

Tom paused to smile at Neelix. It was so rare to hear anyone say 'the Captain' anymore. It was even rarer to be in contact with anyone from his old life. To him, Voyager was a distant memory. Experience had taught him to live in the now, not in the past. 

"No, Neelix, I know we would. I'm not stupid. I know that she's convinced herself that she loves me." 

Tom turned his head towards the Talaxian at his side. "You want to know how I presume to know her mind better than her, right? Simple really. When you spend the better half of your life being thrown in and out of jail, you learn to read people pretty well; it keeps you alive. Another trick I learned from a lifer is to create illusions in your mind, fill it with things that make you happy. Makes the time pass more quickly." 

"And you think that she's used that to convince herself that she loves you?" Tom nodded slowly. 

"Let's say that this was created by some fantasy. So what? It's only a question of time before we all go. You might as well make sure that you both enjoy the time you have left." 

Tom opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Neelix. "You are not your father, Tom. There is no doubt in my mind that, if you accept Hope, she will never want for love. You might not give her the perfect life here, but at least there can be some happiness." 

"What about Kathryn? She's not going to take this well." 

Neelix cleared his throat, wondering how to broach the next gap. "She'll handle it in her own way, but you have to keep all of the other attachments free." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"You have this image in your mind of the perfect family. Maybe you do need to think of what is best for Hope. You and the Captain are close friends..." 

"And for her sake we should just keep it at that?" 

"You said it yourself-- the Captain is only in love with you because of this illusion. Kairon is right, this would cement it or shatter it. I know you feel something for this child, but is it as strong if not stronger than what you feel for her? Because, if you really love both of them as much as you say you do..." 

"Than I have to be willing to love Kathryn enough to just be her friend if that's what she wants," Tom said, his chest tightening at the thought. 

"Tell her about Hope with no strings and no pressure attached. The sooner the better." 

"And if I don't get the ending that I want...I'll just follow an old lifer's advice." 

§Ø§

"Aren't you tired yet, Tanari? We've been at this nearly sixteen hours straight."

The short, slender man turned toward the hologram and offered a weak smile. "I am use to lengthy hours. If I don't keep the time table that my superiors want, I will be killed. Then who would help you?"

"Still...some rest might help. A few hours will clear up your mind. I can keep working."

Tanari shook his head. "You know, I do envy you; you never grow tired. You will never die. The freedoms that you had and have now are those that I have never known."

"How so?"

"I've only been permitted to go outside the building when I was running errands. The last time that I saw the suns... felt them on my skin was six winters ago. I spend most of my time going from one lab to the next, working on one problem and then another."

The Doctor paused and put his scanner down. "When did all of this start? The Farm, The Yard?"

"I am not to speak of such things. No outsiders may know."

"Tanari, in all likelihood I will spend the rest of my days in this lab just as you have. I would like to know...to understand why."

The Kamien nodded and sat on one of the stools near the Doctor's table. By the time his tale was over, the Doctor had wished he had never asked.

§Ø§

It was nearly dawn by the time that Tom left the nursery. He had gained Kairon's permission to take the following day off as the Doctor had explained to him that 'being overly distracted by distressing news lowers productivity rate and raises the likelihood of injury' and that the Doctor had 'spent enough valuable time tending to his wounds.'

His head was down as he rounded yet another corner. For the better part of an hour, he had paced the corridors, delaying his return home. Telling himself he was merely taking time to think things over, he had made the rounds of the living quarters several times, passing by his own and continuing on. It was on one of those trips that he bumped into someone. Muttering an excuse, he started on his path again. He'd only gotten a few feet when a distinct voice called his name. 

Disbelieving eyes met. "But you're dead. You both are. We saw them bury you alive." 

"Heard the same rumor about you too. Guess it didn't stick," Harry said, laughing. Tom took in the differences in both his friend and the woman beside him. They were both thinner than the last time he had seen them, and their eyes had deep black marks beneath them belying a lack of sleep. 

"God, it's good to see you, Tom," B'Elanna said, stepping toward him, trapping him in a tight hug. Tentatively returning it, he felt his chest tighten. Before this place, they had been dating. Now she was a reminder of a life he had all but left behind. In the course of his year on Kamien, he had fallen in love with someone else... someone with whom he now had a child. A family that he was duty bound to protect. How many more surprises was the day going to hold? 

"Who else?" He managed. His voice sounded strained to his own ears. 

"Tuvok, Neelix, Chakotay, Seven, and a handful of others. Mostly science officers. What about the Captain?" Harry's voice at the last was colored with a little too much hope and emphasis. A sick feeling entered Tom as he forced himself to answer. 

"Kathryn's alive. Barely. Nearly lost her a few weeks back when the sewing factory burned down," Tom answered, trying to hide the emotion in his voice and failing. Both of his friends picked up on the hitch in his tone as he recalled the events and the fact that he had used her first name. Swallowing hard, he ventured, "She's not the person you knew. I don't think that anyone is." 

"Do you think she'd still be able to act as Captain?" Harry asked. Tom's eyes flew from inspecting his hands to lock on him. His stomach lurched. Oh god. Oh god no. His mind kept repeating the same phrase over hand over. 

"She's still Kathryn. Just a little different. Can't say any of us are the same." He explained. The two nodded. 

"B'El and I've come up with an escape plan. We've already set it in motion. Just need you to tell her to be ready when the time comes." 

The walls were suddenly moving in on him. He was having trouble breathing, concentrating as he felt his life totally and utterly slipping out of control. It was happening too fast. Realizing that they were waiting for an acknowledgement, he nodded slowly wondering if he had kept the look of disbelief off of his face. 

B'Elanna looked nervously around them. "We had better be going or we'll be late. We'll find a way to get word to you." After murmuring a quick goodbye, the pair took off in the opposite direction of they came, and Tom continued down the hall to his quarters. 

When he arrived home, he found that Kathryn was still asleep. Not wanting to wake her, he silently padded across the living room straight to the sofa. He sank down onto the inviting cushions, untied the laces of his boots, kicked them off beside the coffee table, and pulled the afghan off the back of the sofa to cover himself.

He'd intended on telling her about Hope tonight, but couldn't bring himself to do it. Circumstances had changed drastically. B'Elanna and Harry's newest escape attempt would either get all of them killed, get Hope killed as 'punishment,' or would be successful which would mean loosing Kathryn permanently. 

Though he felt bone tired, he couldn't find sleep easily. Torn between telling her about Hope and about possible freedom, he took the night to digest the news before telling her. At least this way one of them would have a decent night's sleep. 

§Ø§

Kairon stood behind the wall of monitors in his office. He'd been staring at the main view for so long that his eyes had unfocused. The muted newscast was filled with a special broadcast about the murder victim found just blocks from the Industrial Order's Complex. Without seeing the body, he knew that it was his favored assistant. Although protocol dictated he put in the order for Talken's replacement as well as a sweeper team, he was having trouble making the call. Ten years they had worked together, and, in all that time, Talken had never failed him. He had even gone so far as to worry about his master's health. 

Sighing, he raked a hand through his hair. It was a mannerism that he had picked up from watching Alpha Voyager 04--one that his assistant had pointed out on several occasions. 

The door to his office slid open, revealing a weary looking Tanari. 

"You asked for me, sir?" 

He was shaking, and rightly so. Word had spread around the compound that Kairon had locked himself away in his office that morning, refusing all calls. When he was brooding as he was now, he was a dangerous man to be around. 

"Talken's clone is in the cryo chamber still?" 

"Yes, sir. It just needs a few uploads of data before it is sent to you. It should only take a week or so," the worker said, pausing. "Does this mean that he is no more?" 

Kairon motioned from Tanari to come in. Walking with great trepidation, he approached and slid into the seat across from his master. 

"It was an intentional move, Talken. Tumeric killed him and is probably planning on releasing information about the compound to the general public." 

"But if the private sector finds out how the government has been supplying their needs..." 

"They'll be public outrage. The government will be overthrown...blah blah blah....I've seen the scenarios. I even wrote some of the damned things. So much irony in the situation, isn't there, Tanari? They know that we have few resources left and yet they never question where we acquire them. We were created to serve them. To keep them all comfortable without letting them know how. We've done this for years..." 

"And if any information was leaked to the public, Project Farm will be cancelled. All documents destroyed. As well as all prototypes." 

Kairon nodded, returning his glare to the TV screen behind him. His hand went to the console in front of him where he entered the orders to send out the sweeper team. They would discard of the body and erase all evidence linking him to the Industrial Order as well as take out the two rouge clones. 

"Suppose this means that you'll want to step up the Voyager project." 

"You have four weeks. No more. Use them wisely." 

§Ø§

"Are you sure this is going to work?" B'Elanna asked, looking over the PADD the Doctor had provided her. He nodded gravely at her. 

"They all contain a small amount of Kamien DNA. It was necessary for them to use donor eggs in the beginning to create human life. By creating hybrids, they were able to ensure that their replicas were capable of surviving the tougher climate here." 

Nodding her understanding, B'Elanna sighed. "I'm going to start embedding the coding into the program tonight. It should only take me a day or so per alogrhythm to hide this. Harry'll back me up laying false trails. I'll need you to cover the camera; put them on a loop like I showed you." 

"And what makes you think that they won't notice?" 

"Guards are all jumpy. I've heard that they're worried about what Kairon might do now that his favorite muscle got himself killed." 

She paused, hiding the PADD in her boot before turning her gaze on the Doctor again. 

"Remember to tell Tom about the timetable," B'Elanna started, then off the Doctor's sunken expression added. "What's with him? He seems...off. Least he did when Harry and I ran into him last night." 

"Seems that this place has left him with his own demons to deal with." 

"You told him about The Replicas, didn't you?" 

"In a way, yes." 

"Don't tell me he got attached to his other self." B'Elanna said, laughing at her own joke, but stopped abruptly at the Doctor's serious expression. 

"There is more going on than you know about, Lieutenant. Tom and Captain Janeway stand to loose the most in this arrangement, and I'm not totally sure they'll survive your little scheme." 

B'Elanna opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off when the Doctor raised his hand. "It's not my place to tell you. I will relay the message." 

§Ø§


	10. Part X

  
  
  
  


"All were endangered; young and old were hunted down by the dark death shadow who lurked and swooped in the long nights of the misty moors." 

Beowulf 83-85 X Splinters 

He ran. His chest burning from the sudden overuse of his lungs. The object he carried in his sweat soaked palm was the true cause of his death march. A tiny data PADD that fit perfectly into his right hand contained all of the information that his master had died to collect. Heavy footfalls echoed through the streets as the Kamien soldiers closed in on him. With his final destination in sight, he picked up his pace. Legs burning from the sudden burst, he slipped the data entry device into rose bush beside private residence's front door before running out into the street. 

In the distance, he could make out the silhouette of scent hounds yapping their way toward him. He knew without a doubt that where they apprehended him was where they would start their search for the PADD; it was what he had been trained to do. With a silent muttering of pain, he lunched himself over a nearby fence and bolted for the forest just beyond the sleepy neighborhood. There, he could wade through the river that wound through it, washing his scent away, before racing toward the mountains. 

No sooner had he reached the edge of the woods than he heard the nearby shouts of soldiers and dogs. They were closing in quickly. His left hand came up to the wound on his left side. It bled heavily through his thick overcoat. His time was coming soon just as it should be. His work was finished, and it was better to die quickly and quietly than in a Kamien interrogation facility. Shedding his blood soaked coat and shirt, he ventured out of the woods, through the protective shield, and into the bitter cold of the mountain's base. The once distant yells of the soldiers grew closer, but he didn't care. His work was done. 

The cold ate through his skin, cooling it at incredible speeds. The snowflakes he'd watched from a safe distance now fell on his bare shoulders, and he watched with awe as they suddenly stopped melting. 

A dog howled in warning as the pack picked up his scent. More yelling from men this time. He closed his eyes, feeling his very blood turn to ice. 

"Kenoshia, come through the barrier. Sitting in the cold like that will only lead you to your death." 

The ampule clicked between his molars. Designed to remove all memory engrams from his mind, it was standard issue to higher ranking officials within the Kamien government in case they were captured by the enemy. It was a gift that had been given to Tumeric by the source they had leaked the original information to. End of days was coming, and he was glad he wouldn't be there to see it. 

§ Ø § 

Mortimer Harrin, sat on the narrow stool to which he had been assigned, cursing violently at the machine in front of him. If there was one thing he hated more than manual labor it was being forced to do it on archaic technology. His placement in the newly rebuilt sewing factory had been his own fault; he'd questioned a Kamien superior officier about his poor choice of conduit wiring in the electricity grid. Of course he'd received a sound thrashing and been forced into the most minial and repetitive jobs there was. 

The gentle murmuring of the machines around him and the hypnotic pacing of the guards was enough to lull him into sleep. His hand slipped yet again, and, for what seemed the four hundred time that day, the needle became unthreaded. Of course, the thread itself had to become tangled. He lifted the needle, pulled the fabric only to find stuck in the tiny hole for the bobbin's feeder. Rather than carefully extracting it like he had the first dozen or so times it had happened, he cut it out, rethread the needle, and continued. At least, if they killed him for doing such a horrible job, he would be free of this machine and this place. 

Mistake number 473 occurred not because of mechanical problems or lack of know how. It was caused by a guard losing his step and falling within the direction of his machine, ripping the powercord from the back. He flew back off of his stool and rised his hands in the air. 

"I didn't do that. You saw that I didn't do that, right?" His eyes dashing from guard to guard. 

"Don't just stand there, you idiot, see what's wrong,"one of the guards yelled. Chell stepped forward, pulling the guard from Harrin's work station and setting him none to gently on the ground. He was sweat soaked and delirious, mumbling non-coherent phrases about the End of Days. Deep crimson blood tricked from his nose, and his body was trembling uncontrolably. 

"I think he's dehydrated maybe. Do you have any water for him to drink?" Chell ventured. A murmur broke out through the crowd. One prisoner took the initiative to race to the well near the center of camp and draw a bucket full of water. The mumbling only stopped as the ladel full of water was raised to the guard's parched lips. 

A blue beam surrounded the guard and he disappeared instintaneously leaving Chell crouched beside a vast, empty space. The guard that had spoken to them stepped back, clearly showing some of the same symptoms his comrade had. His eyes darted around at the workers that had left their stations to see what was happening. Then, he cast a weary gaze at the only other guard on duty. An unspoken agreement passed between them before he bellowed more orders. 

"Line up; we're bringing you back to your cells for lunch today." 

Harrin's elbow dug into Chell's side as they marched. "Great going, Florence Nightengale. What were you expecting? A medal?" 

"Harrin, if you weren't so busy trying to make everyone miserable by extolling your theories then maybe just maybe you would have noticed the look in those guard's faces." 

"Yeah. They were terrified that we were going to rebel and take them out," he gruffed, dragging his chains behind him." 

"You really do suck at human interaction, don't you?" Ayela called out from behind them. "What Chell meant was that the guard that went down had the same kind of 'attack' that all the other guards have had before they were mysteriously beamed away too." 

"And a lot of those same symptoms..." 

"Are being displayed by these guards. I got that. So what? All the Kamiens are getting some nasty bug?" 

"Which means that sooner or later we could just walk right on out of here without a fight." 

"You think they're just going to lower their little shield and let us all skip merrily into the sunset? You two are completely crazy." 

"Every morning at exactly 6:15 the shield goes down for ten minutes to allow the workers needed to deliever bodies to the creamatorium leave." 

"So, if we timed it right, we'd all be able to walk out." 

"Right into the new batch of guards walking in." Harrin volleyed, rolling his eyes at the two conspiritors. 

"There's only a finite amount of guards that any group of people can have. If all of them got sick or died from whatever this is..." Chell started. 

"Then they'd call out their reserve troops to kill us all before we could escape." 

"You're also one of the most negative people I've ever come across. Get over it, Harrin. It'll work." Ayela interjected. 

"And if it doesn't everyone on your cell blocks will be dead which is...oh say...everybody left from Voyager." 

§ Ø § 

The clones stood in eleven lines waiting patiently for their latest injection. This one would take them from age 8 to 12 in a few hours. The following day, they would be given the shot that would level them out to the appropriate age. Young Kathryn came first. She stepped up to Tom with a board smile across her face. The type that reached her eyes. The kind that he hadn't seen from the original Kathryn since he had begun keeping long hours to see Hope. 

"Good Morning, Lieutenant Paris." 

He winked at her, "Morning, Captain," he teased, pressing the hypospray to her neck. 

"You're still taking me out on the shuttle tomorrow, aren't you?" Her voice was filled with youth, overly eager enthusiasum, and an inquizative mind he recalled the original Kathryn having not some long ago. The being in front of him was like a living thing. Bright, shiny, untainted, but, more than anything else, happy and his heart broke for her and the women she would become. 

"Of course I am. Don't I always keep my promises?" 

§ Ø § 

B'Elanna stood at her post on the bridge of Voyager outfitting the con position to include the controls for the new propulsion systems. A lone guard loomed above her. She turned a wary eye on him, watching him sway slightly yet again. A clumbsy hand rose to his brow, wiping the sweat it encountered. Normally, she would have had her own troupe watching over her, but a number of guards had fallen mysteriously ill. All of the displaying remarkably similar symptoms. A cruel smile twisted at her lips, forcing her to lower her head slightly. 

"If you don't mind me saying so, you don't look well," she said, standing, voice colored with humor. "In fact, you look even paler than normal." 

The hand that held his gun at his side rose in the air slowly as he struggled to target her. The strike held little strength and they both knew it. His mouth opened to speak but the words came out in a stuttering mess. 

She tilted her head to the side, making a mental note to tell the doctor that the infection's incubation time was excellerating with each generation it was infecting. 

With dispassionate interest, she watched him sink to his knees. The color drained from his face, his lips grew blue tinged, and he his hands began to twitch as he lost motor control. Within seconds a transport beam enveloped the guard and he was replaced with another. One that was still in the early stages. 

"Get back to work," he growled. She did as was ordered trying carefully to conceal the smile on her face. 

§ Ø § 

The Doctor sat in his lab, staring down at the latest scans he'd run of the Kamien soldiers at The Farm. The compound that he had created was working perfectly according to the chart. Facts and figures and illness all neatly diagramed. Life and death projections like those found in a history text he'd had entered into his matrix. Funny how it felt different when you knew what each of their faces looked like. 

"Maybe they'll name the serum after me," he mused to himself, flipping the PADD off and throwing it onto the steel counter that his feet were currently propped up on. Empty hands came to rest on his bald head. Fingers threaded through one another as a content smile spread across his face. 

Four months ago, B'Elanna had come to him looking for a fast, easy way to disable the guards. She and Harry were working on outfitting Voyager with the Kamien-based propulsion system. The access they were given allowed them to work on an escape route-- one that was more complex than digging to freedom but also had a much higher success rate.The Doctor agreed to come up with a means if she came up with the method. The engineer was quick to point out the drug could easily be slipped into the weekly injections that the enhanced Kamiens received to keep their systems from rejecting the added sequencing. When he'd delievered the formula for her to enter into the computer system's data core, he'd failed to mention the unfortunate side effect of his invention. 

It was a miracle design really. A virus that attacks only Kamien DNA in the very medium used to replicate it-- the mitochondria. The shot would convince the cell to create nucleic acids that were tainted with mutant strands of DNA. These strands were unable to be paired with existing RNA or be broken down into ATP, the sugar that provides the energy for cell division. In other words, their cells would run out of the body's form of gasoline. Without gasoline, the cell's 'engine' would burn and the car, or, in this case, the Kamien soldier, would die. The more of their own people's DNA in their system, the quicker the infection would spread. 

As soon as he had seen the evidence that his creation was working, he had begun writing an article for the United Federation of Planet's Medical Jounral. He was sure his entry would gain him attention when they returned home. It wasn't every day that a hologram single-handedly rescued an entire crew from certain death. 

"Doc?" 

"Yes, Ensign?" He asked, swerving around in his chair. 

"I've come to check your holomatrix," he said, looking from the doctor to the camera in the corner and back. 

"Working at peak effeciency," he said, picking up the PADD he was holding earlier and handed it to the young man. "And you?" 

Harry looked over the message written below the graph. 'Serum working faster than anticipated. Scheduled extration needs to be moved up at least two days.' It read. Harry typed in a response and handed the PADD back to the doctor. 

"Doing just fine, Doc. Might even be able to clear enough spare time to help Tom." 

The doctor casually looked down at his reply. 'Can do. Will tell B'El. Update Tom.' 

"I'm sure he'll be glad to hear that. He's been waiting for you to finish work on the Flyer. Seems his clone is anxious to take her out for a spin. Shouldn't be more than a week or so." 

"Speaking of being anxious, B'Elanna'll have time to give you that make-over you wanted." 

The doctor laughed. "Yes...you know how it is. The Kamien officers feel more comfortable around someone that looks like them, and, if we are going to be here forever, it only makes sense." 

The stage was set. The time table was give. Now, he could only hope that the pawns would go out willingly and easily. 

The doors to the Doctor's laboratory swished open and a nervous looking Tanari entered the room grasping a PADD as if his very life depended upon the information gather there. 

"I'll be back tomorrow to check in. I have a few things left to do on the ship before I call it a night," Harry said, turning and leaving the lab. The Doctor nodded before turning his attention to the young Kamien. 

"Yes, Tanari? Is there something I can help you with?" 

He took one hesitant step and then another before offering the hologram the PADD he held so tightly in his hand. 

"The tests that I have been running on the most recent victims of this plague have shown something...disturbing shall I say." 

"Oh? And what might that be?" The Doctor replied, frowning at the information on the screen. Tanari seemed to be unraveling his little creation much sooner than he had anticipated. All thoughts of handling the situation quietly were efficiently cut off when the shy Kamien spoke again. 

"The virus seems to have mutated.... It's become airborne." 

"What?" The hologram stammered, eyes flying up to meet the Kamien's. Thought he was only partially shocked to hear the news, he hadn't theorized it would have occured this soon. 

"That's not possible. In all the simulations I ran it never..." His voice trailed off as his eyes flew to Tanari's, instantly trying to assess if his slipped comment had been detected. Seeing no response, he ventured his next question. Logical and yet not scientifically centered as you would expect. It was the human reaction. "Are you sure?" 

"I ran the tests several times. Each time it was the same. I believe that it has something to do with the chemicals I found within their cell structure..." 

The Doctor lowered his head to read over the tests, tuning the young man out. His skilled eyes darted from autopsy report to autopsy report. Graph after graph showed the same thing-- the serum he had created had become airborne. 

"Doctor?" Tanari repeated, more forcefully. 

"What?" he asked, his head shoot up in reaction. 

"I asked if you thought it would be prudent to test all the men and place them into isolation, or just shut down The Farm to all outside Kamiens indefinitely." 

"The Voyagar Plan's release is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. Shutting down this place will only result in panic from the board members, and you know how much strain Kairon is under. I think we shouldn't bother him with this until we have come up with some way to treat it. Until then, treat the symptoms like we have been, terminate those that are in the advanced stages..." 

"We're running low on guard clones, sir. There isn's enough of them left to cover the numbers that are dying or already dead, and many of my lower level scientists are already in the advanced stages." 

The Doctor resisted the urge to smile at the last confession; it was the news he was hoping for. "Whatever it is that was the original cause has to be something they all had in common," he said, pausing. "What about their food? Don't all Kamiens eat the same meals?" 

Tanari offered a genuine smile. "This is true. They do. Perhaps some of the new plant species we gathered from the Kazon vessel were not totally compatable with our cellular structure." 

"Or it was a combination of several plant genes that were spliced together." 

The Kamien scientists face fell. "That would leave hundreds if not thousands of possibilities." 

"We'd better get started then," the Doctor said, rising from his stool. "I'll take the first greenhouse, and you start on the second. Have as many of the biologists that can be spared help you." 

In his haste to exit, Tanari left the PADD behind. Fingering the sides of it, the Doctor picked it up, selecting all of the text, downloaded it into his matrix, and deleting all of the files from the PADD. As he exited the lab en route for the greenhouse, be began whisleing to himself as another subroutine worked on encrypting the files. 

§ Ø § 

Rough hands grabbed Tumeric's lapels and drug his corpse up from his position on the creamatorium's floor. A second man lifted his legs, guiding the body into the oven's great maw. 

"Always said that I wanted to do this," Chell said, evenly. "Course, I was usually the one that pulled the trigger to begin with." 

"You would have killed him first? I would have just thrown him in the damned thing alive," Ayela replied. 

"Not much of a eulogy," Chell said, laughing. 

"What were you expecting me to say? I loved you to death and hope you well in the next life?" Ayela said, pressing the button to expose the fire to Tumeric's flesh. His hand rose to wipe the sweat caused by the sudden heat. 

"Why do you suppose they killed him?" 

"My guess? Probably something to do with his not complyin'." 

Both paused for a brief moment, realization that Tumeric was actually dead seeping in. 

§ Ø § 

The thinning line of crew members stood facing the main stage in The Yard. Tumeric's third in command now stood in front of them. He was a man that barely spoke but had mastered the fine art of scowling. Today, he stood proudly before them announcing that he had just been made the commanding officer. His victory speech was cut short with the deafening approach of three transport ships. 

Murmurs broke out in the audience as the hatch opened to reveal several of Kairon's guards. Guns raised, they fanned out into a semi-circle. Behind them, a smaller group that all held scanning devices. They moved through the prisoners towards the Yard's guards, using tiny tricorders to scan their torsos. A single scientist yelled toward the lead vessel a single, three word phrase-- "Scans affirmative, sir." 

In a few moments, Kairon exited the shuttle and walked slowly, purposfully toward the main stage. A brief, heated exchange passed between the new leader of The Yard and Kairon in hushed tones. The gathered crowd only picked up brief snatches of their conversation. 

"--came to take command..." 

"--won't be pushed around by some data pusher." 

"--could have you killed..." 

"--feels for the humans." 

Kairon stepped back, adjusting his tunic with a great tug as his ghostly grey face turning red with anger. "At least I didn't contribute to Tumeric's plan to bring about End of Days." 

One hand rose from his side to the brim of his hat, and, within seconds of that action, one of his men from the Farm hit his target with deadly accuracy. The third in command's body fell to the uneven planks of the platform like a puppet whose strings had been cut. 

Kairon turned and smiled apologetically to the crowd. " He was a non-compliant little man, wasn't he?" A deep silence feel upon the prisoners gathered. 

"The Yard is being closed for the time being. You are to turn and enter the passanger vehicle one at a time. We are taking you to The Farm. Once there, you will be given food, new clothing, a shower, and be placed in isolation until the cause ot the virus afflicting the soldiers here in The Yard and Farm is determined," he exampled tersly before turning to the man exiting the lead shuttle. 

"Ensign Kim, why don't you lead them out?" Kairon said, walking slowly toward the transport ship. Once inside, B'Elanna's eyes dashed towards his. 

"Everything went smoothly," he said, smiling, propping his feet up on the con.   
  
XI: Shattered 


	11. Part XI

  
  
Modulation Sydney Alexis--> 

"Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will."

Gandhi

XI Shattered 

Kathryn sat at her desk near the large picture window in their living room. Her eyes were staring blearily at the PADD's display, but her mind wasn't focused on it. It hadn't been for hours. 

Tom was late getting back again, and her mind was slowly creating and hastily rejecting theories as to what was keeping his interest for so many hours. Determined to question him when he returned that night, she kept her vigil. Her eyes were dry and burned from her unflinching gaze. Schematics were momentarily forgotten as the tips of her fingers rubbed at her tear ducts in a vain attempt to regain moisture. 

A sigh escaped her lips as she looked down at the small clock on the desk. She checked the time twice, not believing it was as late as it was. Exhaustion was manifesting itself in the form of heavy, droopy eyes, tense muscles, and the faintest beginnings of a massive migraine just behind the eyes. Glaring at that damned PADD's blinking screen wasn't helping and neither was the growing sense of ill ease she had. Tom was keeping something from her. Of that, she was positive. It was the nature of the secret that bothered her. 

Over the past few days, Kathryn had tried coaxing him to the answer through flirting and playing his own guilt against him. When that had failed, she'd finally asked him point blank. Tom had suddenly found one spot on the concrete flooring fascinating. He'd said he was working late with the doctor on a project and then promptly changed the subject. Trying to lead him back to it, she found a hesitant gaze that begged her to drop the subject. The walls have ears, he'd reminded her. 

More telling had been the way he'd changed. In the space of a few days, he was withdrawn and yet clingy at the same time. When she stood and moved around their quarters, his eyes would follow her as if he was expecting her to disappear. He'd taken on an unnatural interest in her work even going so far as to double check her figures and designs, offering unbidden tips or suggestions. His routine was off too. Suddenly he was the last one down and the first one up. A number of times, she awoke to find him already gone or watching her while she slept. If he was trying to be secretive or stealthy in his plans, he had a great deal left to learn. 

Burying her hands in her hair, she pulled her head down, feeling the warmth of blood flowing into her neck as she stretched the muscles. Her mind continued weaving theories the majority of which centered around him plotting an escape attempt. 

Another glance at the clock revealed it was 3:16 AM. Groaning inwardly, Kathryn picked up the schematics and began working anew. 

Playing with his Captain Proton program was quickly vetoed because Kamiens hated wasting time or energy on leisure activities. Maybe there was an error with his piloting program that they were forcing him to fix. Or maybe they put him to work some place he was too scared or ashamed to tell her about. Or something he didn't want to tell her. The last thought gave her pause. They'd spent nearly every moment together since they had landed on Kamien together. They'd shared tales of their past, their fears, plans they'd held for the future...at least before arriving. There was little she wouldn't tell him if he asked. 

The doors to their quarters announced his arrival. An apprehensive look crossed his features when he saw her sitting there. Hands knitted together in front of him as he stepped inside. 

"You're up late," he stated in a neutral voice. He walked purposely towards her, dropping a kiss onto her brow. It was an action he used to take every day when he returned home from working in the flight simulator. It was domestic, familiar, comforting. At least it was at one time. 

"You're getting back late," she acknowledged his presence, and returned to her work, deciding to let him make the first move. 

"I was working on something and lost track of time." 

It was the type of lame excuse her father had used when he missed her ballet recitals, helping her on science fair projects, skipped family dinner. Kathryn released a noncommittal noise. At least, after awhile, her father had told her the truth-- keeping Starfleet from entering armed conflicts with Cardassians, Klingons, and Romulans was more important than watching her butcher _Swan Lake._ She wondered idly if whatever it was he was keeping from her was as important as all that. 

"New project?" Kathryn asked, not bothering to look up from her PADD. The same PADD she had all but avoided looking at was now the most interesting thing in the room. 

"Something like that," he replied, walking to the food dispenser to allow a natural pause in the conversation. "What are you working on?" 

An evasive maneuver. Not a very good one at that. 

"Shuttle schematics." Her concise answer sounded harsh even to her own ears. 

Turning off her PADD, she turned toward him in her seat. "And you? What are you working on?" 

"Project with the doctor," came his indirect answer. 

He turned toward her, offering her a weak smile before walking toward the bathroom. Instinctively, she knew what he was up to. He'd take his shower, giving her enough time to forget about her line of questioning before turning in for the night. He'd successfully used this tactic before, and she had no intention of letting him get away with it again. 

"Anything I should know about?" 

"No. Nothing major. We were just working on a way to expand his program so that he can download the Kamien biology database straight into his matrix," he explained, not meeting her gaze. 

Of all the classes she'd taken in the Academy, Interrogation and Human Behavior with Dr. Ellis had proven to be the most useful. Among the things covered were means of detecting deception from another. Looking to the left while concocting a story, shifting their posture into a defensive stance, and a slight increase in pulse rate were classics. While she couldn't confirm the latter without a scanning device, the other two were quite prominently on display right in front of her. 

She felt her jaw tense in anger. He was nearly through the doorway to their bedroom when, in a small and cold voice, she directed her response. "You're lying." 

Tom halted in his step and turned towards her. He had the good decency to look guilty. Shoulders slumped, his gaze left hers. "You're right. I am." 

"Care to tell me what's been going on, or do I have to figure that one out on my own too?" She said, rising from her seat. 

"Kathryn..." He started.

"The truth," a warning tone filtered her voice. 

His face fell as a pain filled expression colored her face. "The truth," he repeated. "The truth is that I wasn't sure how to tell you. Didn't want to tell you," Tom said in a smooth voice as he reached her side. A shaky hand cupped her cheek. It was a diversionary tactic. One that she pushed away from. A hurt expression filled his face. The action was totally clear; she was offering no support whatsoever. 

Despite her reaction, Tom edged towards her. His hand threaded through his hair as she turned an emotionless stare at him. She felt her heart begin to beat so fast she swore that she could hear it pounding in her ears. His eyes lowered and she watched his Adam's Apple bob up and down. 

A dozen new hypotheses came to mind. They were moving him to a new room and placing her with a different 'roommate'. Kairon had decided to finally kill them all, or had he killed more of her crew? They were planning on sending him on some mission that he wouldn't come back from. She paused, recalling how carefully he had watched her the last week. Was something going to happen to her? Had it already happened? No. She shook her head. Couldn't be that. If something really were to happen to her, Kairon would have told her. He loved taunting her. Maybe it really was an escape plan. 

Her eyes locked with his, desperate to read him. The emotion there changed rapidly. His tongue darted out of his mouth to lick his lips. It was a delay tactic that she now knew well. God how she wanted this to be all be a rouse or a bad dream. Anything but an escape plan. Escaping this place would mean facing her real life and the consequences of the life she had led here. 

"I need to ask you two questions and I want you to promise me that you will answer truthfully." 

The shocked expression on his face gave him away; he hadn't meant to speak yet. Two questions? The ill ease in her stomach was growing more intense as she watched him close his eyes. He was pausing to choose his words carefully. She'd only seen this unsure, terrified version twice-- the night of the fire as she was losing consciousness and when she woke up in sickbay some time later. Anger began to melt into concern. His aloofness and less than detailed responses were scaring her. They'd shared nearly everything in the last year--near death to morning breath to mourning dead friends, lectures on cleaning up dirty laundry to putting the seat down. What was it he was keeping from her? Was it really about her? God the way he was looking at her now made it seem so. 

"Tom?" she said, furrowing her brow. The growing apprehension colored her voice. She heard him draw in an audible breath. 

"Do you trust me?" 

Kathryn leaned forward in her seat, pausing to briefly ponder the question. He was keeping something from her. Trust in a relationship entails a willingness to reveal things to the other person despite the fact that you know it will hurt them. It means not keeping secrets in the first place. Covering his hands with her own, her eyes searched his for the answer instead. And she saw what she was looking for on his face. He wanted validation and affirmation that she felt something for him, that she would hear what was to be said instead of walking away from him. For once, she was willing to break her cold front. Never letting her gaze stray she spoke her reply clearly. "You know that I do," she said, smiling. For now at least she meant it. 

A pause...a heartbeat. His warm hands still held hers. Biting his lower lip, he looked down at the concrete flooring of their room. Her anxiety grew. She returned to her original theory; he was planning an escape. Suspending the truth drove her to verbally nudge him forward. "I thought you had two questions?" she said, smiling again. His eyes locked with her for a moment. The look on his face made her believe that he had forgotten she was there for a moment. 

He left her side and moved to stand in the window eyes locking on some distant sight. There was no peace to be had or comfort to be drawn from him as she watched the play of emotions across his face. The look was true and clear-- he was terrified. 

"Do you remember the first time I told you one of my legendary stories?" he said, with the ghost of a smile on his face. 

Kathryn came to stand behind him but made no movement to touch him. His mannerisms belied more than his voice did. "Of course I do," she said, quietly. 

"And on the bridge right before we landed? I promised you that we would get through this." 

She saw the muscles in his back and shoulders tighten beneath the flimsy fabric of his t-shirt, and she wasn't entirely sure if it was him or her hand that was trembling as she touched him. Why recall the past like this? Why the sad lilt to his voice? The distant tone he used reminded her of the way her grandmother spoke of her grandfather years after his passing. As if those days were gone and now lost...intangible. 

"And we have. Things have gotten better, Tom. We got out of The Yard...alive. The work that we do now...it isn't anywhere near as rigorous. G'tan Kairon has been kinder in his treatment." 

"Appearances can be deceiving, Kathryn," he said, looking at her reflection in the glass. Somehow...gods somehow she knew it was an omen. Standing there beside him, watching him watch her in the reflection in the glass.

A pause ensued as Kathryn mulled over Tom's foreboding statement. Had Kairon placed them here to give them a false sense of security? In their past encounters with him and his associate, Talken, they'd both learned that the pair of them had been nothing but lab rats from the first. Perhaps Kairon had decided they weren't moving quickly enough in this 'relationship.' Her heart sped up. Were they changing Tom out with another of her crew? Or were they planning on forcing them to be together. She shook her head slowly at the implications of that last thought. Steeling herself against the worst, she allowed herself to speak the comforting words that had formed in her mind, not fully believing them.

"Whatever it is it can't possibly be as horrible as the built up you've given it." 

Tom gave her a skeptical look through the glass. She began to wonder when that pane of glass had suddenly became his armor and what it was he was protecting himself from. Her reactions perhaps? Her eyes were drawn back to the real being rather than the reflection he cast as he crossing his arms in front of his chest. It was a protective stance. Yet another means of distancing himself from pain. The action was not lost on her. Stepping back, dropping her hand from his shoulder, she watched him watch her again. 

"The first story that I told you. Do you remember it?" 

She closed her eyes, recalling that night. The guards had brought her back to her cell beaten and nearly broken. His soft voice crooned her back to him through that tale. He wove a fantasy land reminiscent of the fairy tales her mother had read her in her youth. That sorrowful voice that begged her to stay with him that helped her remove her mind from her physical pain and center it on things that would never be. It was the vehicle that dropped her in the middle of this existence. Over time, she looked forward to the nights. Tom would comfort her with his words and actions, anchoring her to this world. Like those stories, she knew that he was a constant in her life. She found that her voice had taken on a wispy tone when she finally spoke. 

"How could I forget?" she said, moving closer so that she was standing beside him. "You conjured a wedding up out of thin air." 

Tom closed his eyes, pain etched all over his features. "Thin air," he repeated just above a whisper. 

His reaction was unexpected. By unspoken agreement, they rarely mentioned his stories during their conversations, but, when they did, it was always truthfully. Both acknowledged what happened there were things neither would have. Night time was spent in his creations. They weren't meant to bring pain just to act as their verbal holodeck. Kathryn squeezed between his body and the glass. Gripping his upper arm, she wordlessly asked him to open his eyes. "What is this about?" 

When he finally did respond to her silent bidding, it was written clearly across his face. He'd lost something of great importance to him. It was as if he was mourning something. Deep blue eyes were swimming with unreleased tears. 

"The...uh... the work that the doctor has been forced to do is a little closer to home than I thought." 

"Oh? Don't tell me he's making replicas of himself for a singing quintet," she said, smiling. It was a small attempt to break his mood. All hope faded with his next line. 

"No, it's a little more serious than that." 

Kathryn stood straighter, and motioned with her hands. "You're making it sound like it's our impending doom," she deadpanned. In truth, she was beginning to feel his anxiety as clearly as an empath would. The build up was not only to prepare her for the final outcome but himself as well. His eyes dropped from hers and she saw the fight in him leave. The truth he was avoiding was about to come forward, and, for the first time in days, she wasn't sure that she wanted to know. 

"This place. There's more to it than what you've seen," he started. His gaze finally met hers. "It was nicknamed 'The Farm' by the people that used to work here for more than one reason." 

Her brow knit in confusion. An authoritative tone colored her voice as she spoke. Despite it, she knew. She knew it sounded desperate, but she wanted it to be true. "They work on producing plant seeds that will yield better growth," Kathryn said, waving her hand toward the greenhouses not far from their patio's window. 

"And people to work in the fields for them," he said, finally meeting her eyes. 

"What?" she said, in an incredulous tone. 

"Remember when we first got here? The other, older prisoners used to whisper about a secret location where they would genetically enhance the people of Kamien for a specific purpose?" Tom explained. 

"Yes, but those were just rumors...besides, they only 'perfect' their men for a more precise soldier," she said, crossing her arms. 

"They don't stop at creating their own kind anymore." 

"What on Earth..." 

"Think about it; they find a race of people that are inherently good at one set of things. Then, they recreate them in a laboratory, splice their genes with them and other species to create a hybrid that is resistant to the diseases here on Kamien. They can make them better at mathematics, genetics, even gardening by manipulation of their gene sequences. Add in a proper education and you have the perfect little genius to run your farm, harvest your crops, or beat your prisoners to death. Course, they couldn't stop there." 

She shook her head, not wanting to believe what she had heard and certainly not wanting to hear the rest. The Kamien guards that had taken pleasure in beating her and killing her crew were partly human? That queasy feeling she had was growing exponentially. Wrapping her arms around her, she distanced herself from Tom. Her eyes were locked onto the floor until he spoke again. 

"They are recreating a hybrid of the crew. I've seen it," Tom stated. 

"When? Where? _How?_" Her voice more emphatic with each question. In all the hypotheses that had crossed her mind, this situation had never occurred to her. Numbly, she sat and listened to him elaborate. 

"The Doctor was ordered by Kairon to show me. Their home base is somewhere here on The Farm, but I'm not sure where. He took me down half a dozen corridors. All of them looked the same. I couldn't keep track," His eyes left her again, and she knew some of that was a lie. Too stunned to push him, she began to think to herself aloud. "But why would he show you? A good statistician never reveals his strategy." 

It was a chance to focus on something other than his eyes boring into hers. Breaking away from him, she began to pace in the center of the room. The real question went unasked. Why? Why would the Kamien use valuable resources on recreating her crew. 

"They need someone to train their young how to pilot their shuttles." It was a half-truth that was riddled with lies. His eyes told her and so much more. This reveal was only partially complete.

"He just came out and told you? After telling us an elaborate lie about grain work and shuttle specs...it just doesn't make any sense." 

"I know. B'Elanna seems to think that..." 

Her heart skipped at beat. B'Elanna was long since dead. All those in the camp had been forced to listen to her and those in her cell block scream as they had been buried alive. She's been shackled and drug by her hair behind one of the soldiers until they'd reached the massive grave's depths. She'd struggled against him, fighting and clawing and biting until she's been knocked unconscious and thrown into the great maw. Tom's hand on hers jarred her from those memories as her icy stare turned on him. 

"B'Elanna's alive?"

He nodded. "And Harry." 

"They're alive, and it never occurred to you to tell me?" 

"I bumped into her on my way home. She was on her way to one of the science labs with Harry." 

Her father had used that line on her mother in a different form. 'Just bumped into her on the way to lunch, dear. Thought that I would invite her along. I didn't know you and the girls were coming to the office.' It was always a different cadet or secretary or 'an old Academy friend.' 

Statements like that which told partial truths without revealing anything always augured the loss of trust. In her youth, she'd witnessed them used first hand. She could recalled the day her mother asked her in a quiet voice to take Phoebe and wait outside, the yelling match that followed, covering her little sister's ears with her hands in an attempt to keep all the noise from upsetting her, the finality of the sound of her mother slamming her father's office door behind her, the rough way she grabbed her hand and pulled her away, and the tears that streaked down her mother's face with perfect clarity. Kathryn closed her eyes not wanting to reveal anything to him. 

"Why didn't you bring them here?" 

"They were ordered not to come." His reply was weak and they both knew it, but he didn't seem to care. That single fact raised her ire.

"Since when does B'Elanna follow orders that she doesn't agree with?" Kathryn mused. Jealousy surged in her. Was he cheating on her? No. They'd never had a cemented relationship. At least not in the waking realm. A nagging voice in the back of her mind made her recall how Tom had lamented B'Elanna's death and how close they had been before being trapped on this planet. Maybe it was an elaborate set up Kairon had made to see how humans reacted to betrayal.

"For the same reason that I have to teach those kids how to pilot a shuttle, and you have to do what they tell you to do...they have leverage, Kathryn." 

His words, though muffled by the glass he still stood in front of, held a distinct color--anger. Gone was the meek, reserved facade he had placed on himself from the beginning. Though she wasn't quite sure why, she felt relieved. Maybe because he knew she wouldn't let the matter rest until the last hand was revealed. Maybe because he had expected her to hear the tone in his voice and drop the matter or divine the final answer for herself. To be honest, she didn't care. She was tired. Tired of lies of omission, half-truths, and trying to ply this secret of his out. She could feel the exhaustion in her very bones. They'd been running toward this point for almost a year. It truly was time to stop living in a dreamscape. 

"What could they do that they haven't done before? Beat me? Set me on fire? Work me into the ground? They've already saved my life twice. Why would they risk all that precious time on someone they went to such great lengths to save?" 

"There are worse things in this world than being beaten, Kathryn." 

She felt her jaw tick with anger. Fighting the urge to shake him and ask him what the hell he meant, she decided to use tact. 

"They can't do anything to us we haven't already survived, and we are both worth too much to them alive. The crew is too..." 

"Don't you think that they would have thought about that?" Tom interrupted, anger showing fully in his voice. He turned towards her finally, motioning toward the cameras as he spoke. They knew they were being watching.

Her irritation was seeping into her very posture. "I can't read your mind, Tom. " 

He sat on the sofa opposite her desk rather than the chair closest to her. The distance seemed like a great chasm between them. Grey eyes followed his shaking hand thread through his hair. Her mouth turned into a thin line as she watched him trying to control his anger and another emotion swimming just beneath the surface. 

"From the moment we were put on Kamien, we were divided. Always in pairs. Always males with females. Always couples that had shown some interest in one another on the ship. " 

She wanted to interrupt him, correct him. He and B'Elanna were much closer to pairing off than she to him, but the resentful undertones of his speech prevented her. This was his story to tell. 

"It never really occurred to me until the Doctor lead me around the compound, but now it all makes sense. After all, we were nothing more to them then animals in a cage. What else were we good for other than work detail? They could easily clone their own to dig trenches or sew uniforms. No, they wanted something else." 

Kathryn tilted her head to the side as she considered what he had just said. _Always in pairs. Always males with females...like animals in a cage._ Her mind worked like any other, bringing up bits of long lost knowledge. It finally settled on the tale of Noah and his ark. Two of each animal were brought aboard so they could repopulate the earth. Then, she recalled what she'd learned in biology in her youth; cloning and genetic enhancement was still imperfect. One dormant gene could be switched and the child could be born deformed. It was why Starfleet medical was against experimentation; the results could be disastrous. But a child created willingly was much less likely to end up with medical problems given the vast amount of preventative medicine now given during pregnancy. It would also mean more genes to replicate and create from. 

"They wanted us to mate?" 

Tom nodded his head slowly. "But we didn't cooperate in their little plan, did we? No, that would have been too easy. So, they decided to go for the next best thing. After all, it was just a matter of mixing base pairs. And why go for the kill when you can go for the pain?" He said, a cruel smile twisted at his lips. 

It was meant as a joke. A harsh, inconsiderate joke, but it was enough. Enough to make the blurry watercolor he'd been giving her come into focus. Brilliant, perfect, focus. She felt the air being sucked from her lungs as if it were all too much for her mind to handle. She resisted the urge to let her knees buckle under her like she wanted. Kathryn Janeway was many things but a fainting, simpering fool was not one of them. 

"Her name is Hope," he said softly. Voice still painfully neutral. His eyes were locked onto her, searing through her in an attempt to read her, and she knew. God did she knew it was written plainly across her face; she didn't want to know any of this. 

"Hope?" Kathryn repeated. Her heart was thumping wildly against her ribcage. Her eyes left Tom's and locked onto her hands that were neatly folded in her lap. She knew she was shaking, but she unable to stop. He kept his distance, offering her no support as she had to him earlier. 

"Yeah. The Doc and Neelix named her," he ventured, voice still dispassionate. 

Her reply slipped from her lips without thinking. "We can't become attached to her, Tom. We just can't. If we ever hope to get out of here with everyone else..." She saw him stiffened at her comment, hands clenching in his lap. 

"She's. An. Innocent." Each word articulated precisely as if to give them all a stronger meaning. 

"How can you be so sure? How do you know she isn't programmed like all of their soldiers are? It wouldn't be hard to do now that they've had nearly a year to learn our biology." She volleyed, her volume was audibly louder.

His emphatic reply was instanteous. "Then we'll find a way to deprogram her." 

"I can't have her to worry about; my priority is getting my crew off of this planet and the sooner the better," Her shaking intensified as she tried to keep herself from breaking down. She knew Kairon was in his office somewhere, watching, laughing, enjoying her torment. 

He stepped around the coffee table till he was inches from her; his face was starting to flush with barely bottled rage. 

"You haven't spoken about escaping in months, Kathryn. Now, suddenly it's a priority? Pretty damned convenient. Are you that impatient to escape or are you repulsed at the idea of having my child?" 

"Tom, listen to yourself. This isn't _our_ child. She's Kairon's and whomever created her. She was made in a laboratory in a DNA sequencer. It's nothing more than a reminder that Kairon is in control." 

"What difference does it make where she's made? She's our flesh. Our blood. Our child." His voice grew more forceful with each phrase uttered. 

"She may have my chromosomes and she might even look like me but she is _not_ my child." Her eyes darted to his, trying to impress upon him the truth as she saw it, knowing that he wasn't burying it. 

"Let me see if I have this straight," he started, backing away from her. "You're only willing to accept a child if we created her? Oh wait...that didn't quite work out either." 

Glee-filled eyes turned on her as he spoke, and she watched him trying to control the smirk that wanted so desperately to appear at the jibe he'd made. Her reaction had been raw, pain laced features that she made no attempt to hide. 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she hissed, knowing full well what he was alluding to. She was daring him to speak it aloud. 

"Feigning stupidity doesn't suit you," he said, tilting his head to the side. "You acted as though nothing happened after we got back from that warp ten flight. Just let Chakotay leave our children on that planet. Never even considered going back after them. Never questioned him about his order to leave them there either. No. You were just _so_ happy that he cleaned up our little mess that you didn't want to know the details, did you?" 

"And I was supposed to do what, Tom? Invite them into my life with open arms? Take time off from my responsibilities to raise three children? Leave the bridge during an armed conflict because I was lactactating? You were falling in love with B'Elanna at the time and I had a ship to run. We were friends. Tentative friends at that. We had no business having children let alone three!" she replied, squaring off with him.

Tom glared at her icily. "They we _ours_, Kathryn. Made of _our_ flesh and _our_ blood. They never asked to be born. Never did Hope." He said, pausing to look her over. In the silence, she knew he was calculating his next blow. 

"What is it about Hope that you can't accept? That's she's mine or that you had no control over her creation? Maybe that's it. Maybe you can't accept her because you didn't get the roll around you wanted," he said, advancing on her. Heart thundering in her chest, she backed away, suddenly afraid of the gleam in his eyes. Her retreat was cut short when her back encountered the wall of their bedroom. "Maybe that's why you left those kids behind; you were mad that Tom Paris of all people managed to separate those dimpled knees of yours." 

She slapped him good and hard against his cheek. An angry red mark was left in its wake. When she replied, her voice was hard and cold. "I felt the same that afternoon as I do now-- violated. I might not have remembered it. I might have made jokes about it with you, but I still felt that way. Dirty and used and empty and so confused I didn't know what to think. " 

Instantly, he sobered. An embarrassed flush came to his cheeks. 

"Kathryn...I," he started. It was an attempt to backtrack. To take back the hurtful things he had said, but she knew that some part of him had to believe it to have spoken it. She stepped back from him and raised her hand to stop him. 

"How long have you known?" 

Tom instantly lowered his eyes. That action, in and of itself spoke volumes. It belied a conscious that was guilty for having kept something so large from her. It let her know that he knew that she had figured him out. 

"One week." 

"A week?" she laughed humorlessly. "A week," she said, moving to the farthest corner of the room. "So all those nights you were late getting back, or snuck out thinking that I didn't know..."

"I went to see her," he supplied.

"And it never once occurred to you that I might want to know? Were you waiting for the cards you dealt to finally bring you the payoff you've been after? Maybe that's it," she ground out, eyes narrowing at him. "Maybe this whole set up was about some grand payoff. You expected me to fall apart and cry all over your shoulder so you could play hero, is that it?" She asked, advancing on him this time. Her hand reached up to caress his chest with a tenderness that her voice was utterly lacking. "That must be it. After all, what better way to 'pry apart my dimpled knees' than to salve a broken heart. 

"I've got to hand it to you; you had me convinced for a couple of months there, Tom. But what happened? The little dreamscape didn't turn out quite right, did it?" She asked, pulling away. "Maybe that's your problem. I'm not some simple whore you picked up at Sandrines."

Slowly, he shook his head. "That was harsh."

"What were you expecting me to do? Give you a medal? Throw my arms around you and tell you that I love you?" She asked, sitting on the edge of their bed. Her eyes racked over him seductively. "Or is sex all you ever wanted?" 

She watched from her perch on the bed as his face flushed again in anger. The vein on the side of his neck was throbbing against the surface, and she knew, without a doubt that, he was more than tempted to hit her. 

"You're right. I do picture making love to you, and yes, it did start out as me simply being attracted to you, but I had too much respect for you. I loved you, Kathryn. I cared for you too much to use you like that." 

All the while he spoke, his eyes hadn't lost the reserved look that had been there all night. The fact that he was protecting himself even as he professed his love for her didn't sit well. The fact that he referred to loving her in the past tense and wanting her in the present hadn't been lost on her. 

She rose from the bed and stalked towards him once again. 

"You want to 'make love' to me?" The question was spoken in the same icy tone he'd been using on her. 

"You want to make that damned fairy tale of yours come true?" Two more steps and she faced him. Her hands reached out and cupped his face. The rough stubble of his beard broke the smoothness of his skin. Eyes that were dilated, darting across her face like a typewriter in motion. He was searching for any evidence of what was to come next. She struck in a hard, demanding kiss. Hands came to rest on her hips, pulling her against him. 

At contact, she heard him draw in a deep, shaking breath. As soon as she had evidence of his willingness, she pulled back. She knew he wanted this. Had known for some time. In the way he looked at her. In the way he moaned her name in his sleep. In the longer than necessary showers he had taken early on, and the stories he had created lately. The raw, needy look was always there as he spoke of all the things his dreamscape version of self had done to her, with her. The uneven breathing as the story progressed, the way the sheet tented and he quickly turned away from her, the way he would disappear into the bathroom the nights he couldn't control himself. The muffled sounds coming through the paper thin walls. It was why she would ultimately have power in this moment. Or so she thought. 

"Too spineless to take what you want?" His eyes were awash with lust and anger and tinged with something even more dangerous. Primal and cruel as she taunted him openly. 

He gripped her arms forcefully, fingers biting into her flesh so deeply she felt momentary panic. Before she could protest, he moved in, plundering her mouth again. His tongue thrust its way in. It spoke of a need to dominate, of frustration, and fear. 

"I know your dirty, little secret, Kathryn," he growled against her flesh as his lips and teeth worked against her neck. "You used me to feel. To anchor you here. Just like you used Chakotay." She moaned against him, feeling his speech vibrate through her whole body. His coarse facial hair rubbed against the soft skin of her neck. Her hands pushed against his chest, trying to pry herself from his grasp to regain control. His hands, still locked around her upper arms, closed down tighter against the muscle and bone. 

The spicy soap he used mixed with sweat and the salty smell of dried tears infiltrated her senses. In the past year, she'd grown accustomed to his scent. At any other moment in her time there, she would have found comfort in it and the idea that as long as it lingered in the air, he was still with her. Not that night, and not ever again. 

Warm breath wafted out beneath the low voice that taunted her, tickling the fine hairs around her ear. "You get off on the pain, don't you, Kathryn?" He pushed her against the wall, nipping the flesh of her exposed shoulder. Rough, calloused hands slipped beneath the thin fabric of the t-shirt she wore to bed, ghosting across her nipple before twisting it cruelly. "That's how you center yourself. Without it, you can't function." 

He pulled back as he spoke as if what he had said was a revelation. All she could do was focus on the burning pain in her arms wondering how he had managed to trap her against the wall. Wide, fear filled eyes locked on his mouth as he spoke, but the roar of blood past her ears prevented her from hearing. Muscles twitched as his lips turned into a knowing smile. 

"How were you expecting it to be, Tom? Slow...vanilla... missonary?" She asked, racking her fingernail down his chest. "That's how you envisioned it, didn't you? Candlelight, soft music...maybe even rose petals on the bed. Not that you could get those things here, but you'd tell me to close my eyes and picture them." 

His knee slipped between her legs and she began to rub against him, wantonly seeking friction. She gasped at contact, smiling saucily at him. Releasing a noise somewhere between a gasp and a groan, Tom continued building the fantasy. "I'd take you on a soft matress, press you down into it until you were begging for release." 

"And then you'd what? Kiss me so that your mouth muffled my screaming your name." 

"Or I'd take you to the edge and leave you there." The last was said with a taunting smile. 

She stepped back, placing her squarly against the wall. Both chests were heaving in a vain attempt to gain oxygen to their starving lungs. "Why didn't you ever do it?" 

"I suppose you're going to tell me that you love me next and try to convince me to stay with you. That I'll choose you over Hope." 

Her nails dug into the nape of his neck, forcing him back to her lips. Partly to regain control, defining the boundaries, and silencing him. Those soft lips that spoke of truths she didn't or couldn't hear. This moment was already marred. Tainted. Empty. She didn't need reminders that this may be the last comfort he would ever offer her. She was supposed to return to the being she had been before they arrived, but the full circle had grown askew. The drawing became a misshapen oval. Broken, unfixable. Without hope of escape. Without him or any sense of normalcy. Breathing become difficult. Sound and colors were dulled. Only smell and touch and taste remained. 

She watched his mouth open again and quickly stopped him from speak again, drawing his mouth back to hers. Experienced but shaking fingers eased down his shoulders, caressed him through his shirt, seeking to map planes, plateaus. Thin grey fabric that separated her from him. She tugged the hem from his pants, drawing it up and over his head. Hands sought those same planes she'd felt moments before as fingertips encountered the patch of fine hairs that surrounded his navel and pointed lower. Nails skimmed downward, cupping him through his pants. Tom pulled back moaning loudly into the air. 

"And what if I told you I loved you?" Kathryn asked, locking her eyes on his. They were still filled with lust and anger, but now pain came into them. Even before he spoke, she knew the answer. 

"There is no happily ever after here, Kathryn. There is no hearts and flowers. No rings and promises. All we've ever had are stories and borrowed time." He'd chosen the child over her when she'd chosen to shatter the dreamscape they had built. She'd be damned if she was going to spend her last night with him thinking of the child again. Resigned to their own decisions, she kissed him again, pouring every ounce of pain and punishment and resentment into it. The song modulated. A new key was born. Harmonic minor changed to atonal. Centerless and yet not without purpose or plan. 

Busy hands jerked the fly of his pants down and tried to pull him impossibly closer in the same instant. In the course of movement, he stumbled over them as they lay caught on his boots. Growling in frustration, she knelt in front of him, slipping both off. Her rough hands skimmed across his thighs as she rose, eliciting another moan from him. She leaned forward, brushing a kiss against the inflamed skin. This was how she remember him from New Zealand. Well tanned, lean, muscular, with a dangerous air to his eyes. Jaw set, telling everything he was feeling while his body seemed indifferent. Indifferent to whom he was with so long as he could bury himself in someone. Anger and sense of need always brought out the reckless youth inside of him. 

When she stood even with him, he offered her a lecherous smile. "Shame. I was curious to see what else you were going to do while you were down there." 

"Does that mean you'd drop a few extra bars of latinum on the end of the bed before you leave?" she volleyed. 

Comment ignored, his hands worked their way up her body, lifting the brief nightshirt that had teased him once too often. All the while, he was kissing and nipping at her neck, marking it as he did so. The burning and prickling feeling of his mouth sucking on her flesh and the pulsing within it as the flow of blood returned. The pain shot straight through her, sending waves of need and revulsion. It shouldn't be like this, but it was. She'd expected him to back down, shy away. Never had she expected him to take her. That had been her fatal error. She'd forgotten the brassed off ex-con was caged beneath the facade of a gentle smile and good humor. 

Rough and unapologetic hands pushed her against the bedroom's wall. She knew he'd take control. That it would be wild and hard and that he was going to take out all the pain that he felt on her body. She knew it just in the way his gaze held hers. This is what they both wanted. Both needed. Release and solace all in one. The markings were just a reminder of what she had lost that night. 

She reached for him only to have her hands held above her head. Suddenly a too strong hand grabbed her wrists and squeezed them painfully. The blood flow in them slowed and she watched them turn a deeper shade of pink. The smirk returned to his eyes and finally broke across his lips. An evil glint overshadowed it, knowing that he was causing her pain and that she was enjoying it. 

His lips descended from the neck he seemed to favor to her shoulder and down, resting briefly at her left breast. Teeth grazed her nipple then bit into the puckered flesh. Rosy pink turned ruby as the blood gathered just beneath the surface. Kathryn struggled weakly against the vise-like grip that held her wrists in place, sobbing at the pain and the enjoyment of it. 

He turned to the other nipple then, circling with his tongue, showing it affection he hadn't bothered to show the other. He watched her arch up into him, begging for the release that would never come. The message was clear; he was enjoying his game too much to end it so soon. 

The trail resumed. Insistent kisses paved a cool path down her chest, past her navel, ignoring the searing heat at the base and continuing to her thighs. There, he worked from the knee up, kissing and nipping the flesh there just as he had at her neck. She arched up into him the moment he neared her apex. Fingertips bit into her flesh, mirroring the injury given to her arms. He blew his cold breath against her, watching her writhe against him, toward him. Mewling with sound and need and submission. The feeling of warm fluid pooling inside her and the disgusting need that had taken her over. There eyes met, and she silently begged him to make good on his promise. 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He asked, enjoying her distress. Recently freed hands worked through his hair, trying to drag him to the source of her pain. He grabbed one wrist in his hand, clamping down on it with brute strength. Bones shifted, nearly giving way, blood roared through her veins demanding entrance into her fingers. Threatening eyes dared her to try to escape his touch. The silent warning was left unspoken. No touching unless necessary or permission was given. Her heart thundered against her chest. The wild look in her eyes scaring her more than she wanted to admit. One final squeeze and he released his hold on her wrist, leaving a small kiss on the inside flesh before letting it drop to her side. 

He returned to her lips not giving her a pause to consider what had just happened. The kiss deepened as her leg crawled up his thigh. Smoothed skin rubbing past sparse patches of hair. Calloused hands started at her hips and moved to her knees, wrapping her legs around his waist, pressing her firmly against the wall. His right hand left the knee it was supporting and reached between them, guiding himself into her. Her eyes never left his as he as he drove into her, setting an impossibly fast rhythm. She screamed as he did so. It had been years since she'd been with a man, and he'd given her no time to adjust. Hadn't readied her enough. Burning, splitting, blinding pain. Eyes welling with tears. His hands left her body totally and touched the wall on either side of her head. His eyes were closed, not looking at her. 

She had leaned forward, resting her cheek on his shoulder, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing the pain etched on her face. The pain grew more intense as he drove harder against her pelvis. Bone crushing against bone, bruising the tissue inside her. The abrasive cement wall behind her gnawed away at the layers of skin with each stroke, leaving a bloodied trail on the institutional grey walls. Up and down and back and forth. More pain to add to the mix. She bit her tongue, willing herself not to cry, not to give in, not to let him win. Hands desperately clawed at him to push him away, to make him open his eyes and look at her. What he had made her become. Hands that had come to rest on his shoulders clawed their way down his back leaving red welts in their wake. 

He growled into her shoulder, long and low before biting hard enough to draw blood. The copper, tangy fluid entered his mouth and he licked his lips, swearing he could taste the fear in it. He pulled back to let her see her essence coating his lips, teeth, and tongue. The lump in her throat that had been building since he had begun pounding into her escaped in a low sob. His eyes softened for a fraction of a second before they closed. Lips traveled to her left breast and his tongue swirled on the purpling flesh drawing a bloody circle in its wake. 

"A few more tricks like that one, and this won't last much longer," his husky voice broke in. As he spoke the words, his strokes became more erratic. 

"Is this all the tactics that the self proclaimed ladies man knows?" Kathryn whispered, nipping at the shell of his ear. 

"Maybe I didn't think you were worth the effort." The pounding grew harder and he took one step back, changing the angle by taking more of her slight weight onto him. Her small hands wrapped around his biceps, seeking a steadying purchase. Fingers flexed, dipping deeply into his flesh, nails breaking skin, marking him as he had marked her. 

"Or maybe this is your little way of forcing me to make a child with you," she volleyed, still meeting his strokes. 

"I'm not the one that came on as a bitch in heat." His eyes were closed again and she knew it was less about ignoring the partner now and more about drawing out the moment. 

"I'm not the one that's leaving." she bit back. 

He came as she spoke, riding out the wave before collapsing against her and the wall long enough to catch his breath, not caring that she hadn't come. "And I'm not the one that lied about falling in love," he ground out before slipping out of her and going into the bathroom. Sinking to the bitterly cold floor, she sat listening to the sound of the shower spray hitting his body. Knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, she waited. Numb and empty, rocking back and forth, watching the reddened flesh turn the deepest shades of blue and black. She was shivering from the cold of the cement seeping into her skin, the adrenaline high that was wearing off, and the pain that was filling into her weary body. She became conscious of the fluid and pain between her thighs and the humiliation at the knowledge that she had brought this on herself. 

The shower clicked off and, within a few moments, the door to the bathroom clicked open. The sounds echoed through the silent room, and her shaking hands covered her ears at the suddenly too loud sound it made. Grey eyes watched bare feet stop just shy of her and the trembling began anew. Thin fingers that she recognized all too well and suddenly hated reached within her line of sight to recover his boots. Another sound...again too loud...filled the room. The bed's springs giving way under his weight as he sat to pull them on, lace them up. Eyes always locked on the boots. Never on her. What he had done. Agonizing seconds ticked by. All she wanted was solitude and quiet and the shower in the other room. 

Tom's smell was heavy in the air. Sweat and arousal and come and the scent of the soap he'd been given. It radiated from him as he sat on the bed mere meters from her, but, mostly, she smelled him on her. The mattress shifted again and heavy boots clunked their way to the door. The moment the door swished closed behind him, she flew from her spot on the chilled floor to the bathroom, vomiting the meager contents of her stomach before turning on the shower to purge herself of any proof of what they had just done. Sitting just beneath the water's scalding stream, she watched the pink tinged water swirl around the drain. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she registered the fact that her back ached, that the fluid between her thighs had been tinged with red, and the pain within. 

Even beneath the burning water, she was shaking. The shock of pain and what had happened was filtering in. Every time she closed her eyes, fevered, cold, wild, eyes stared back at her. Taunting her. Blue eyes that had always offered comfort swirled the deepest of blacks. Shadow fell on profile. Sunken, hollow cheeks. Lips stained with her blood offering nothing but a cruel smile. The face of her friend turned into the face of her torment. He'd taken her trust, her first signs of dependency, offered her the tiniest shred of hope for a future with him before snatching it away for a child neither one created. The walls of this place were moving in on her, devouring anything that was left of her old self. 

Red, swollen wrists gripped a washcloth, rubbing in slow, careful circles at her skin. Familiar, well practiced moves. She had started this. It was her fault. He would have stopped at any time. All she had to do was ask him. But from the silent heat of the shower came the clarity of mind. Memory recalled the lust filled heat of just a few moments before. Part of her wanted it and the other part was disgusted by it. That thought made her feel so dirty that she didn't think there was enough water in all of Kamien to soothe it away. 

Soft cloth swirling on skin and the sound of the water beating its path against her was too loud, too hard against her skin. The white material came into contact with the open wound on her shoulder and she released a scream as the soap mixed into the skin. She pulled it away, looking at the red stain on the cloth, knowing it was far from the last area that needed to be cleaned. Careful strokes rinsed blood from her arms, hands, fingers, chest. Mapping out the bruises and marks as she continued lower. Careful strokes became more rough, tearing away the layers of skin that he had touched. 

Never idle hands left reddened flesh in its path. Every square inch of her was cleaned. Hair was plastered to her skull, the water from the shower hooked around her cheeks, past her jaw to fall down a path on her chest, pooling in the natural valley that her legs provided when drawn to her chest. The water, mixed with soap, swirled there, burning the flesh more deeply. Hands knit through hair, pulling her head down. 

A pitiful cry escaped her lips as the shower head beeped before turning off. She'd reached her allotment of water for the day. With great effort, she reached up for the handrail beside the shower stall and attempted to pull herself up. Dispassionate eyes watched the muscle in her abused arms shake beneath the strain before giving up entirely. She sank back onto the floor, her backside slamming against the wet floor. She shifted to her knees, using forward momentum to force herself up. The handrail that had betrayed her before was used to steady her unsure feet. 

The towel resting on the rack was humid to the touch and felt rough against her skin. Like an automaton, she went through the motions of drying off and dressing in another t-shirt. One that he hadn't touched. One that didn't smell of him. 

Bare feet padded against cold concrete to the spot her underwear had been thrown. Tom had ripped them from her in his haste. Though she wasn't sure when he would return, she knew that he would. Kairon would probably insist on it just to see how they would interact under these new circumstances. She watched shaking hands scrub the bloody streak her back had caused against the wall. Rhythmic motions of the sponge. Up and down and up and down. The emotions that she'd forced out of her mind came roaring back with each movement as she recalled the perfect Technicolor of what had just occurred. Nausea began to threaten its way through her system again. Pain was soon replaced with rage. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. It was supposed to be soft and tender or not at all. Never had she considered it would be hard and fast and cruel. 

The door chime echoed through their quarters. The sound of it shocked her briefly from her reverie. The sponge she had been using fell from her hand. Bending carefully to retrieve it, she ignored the ear splitting sound, returning to her task. A beat later, a pair of Starfleet issue boots came to rest at her side. 

"If you came for a seconds, I'm afraid you'll have to find another whore." Her hand returned to the wall, rubbing up and down again. 

A hand reached out and carefully encircled her wrist in an attempt to halt Kathryn's motions. Tear-filled grey eyes went from the wall to the second person in the room. The haunted look behind the gaze she favored her visitor with was enough to make them release their grasp. 

"What happened?" Concerned brown eyes boared into that of her captain's. From the moment B'Elanna had stepped into her superior's quarters, she'd been overwhelmed by the smells within-- fear, rage, blood, and more than anything else, sex. Eyes darting from the blood covered wall and the small bloody footprints across the floor to her captain again. The smell of fresh blood was still coming off of her. An embarrassed flush came over Kathryn's cheeks. 

"It's time to go," B'Elanna said, quietly. "Finish getting dressed. We don't have much time." Kathryn's emotionless eyes returned to her visitors. A chill ran up her spine at the total lack of expression she saw there. 

"I take it Tom didn't tell you that Harry and I found a way to get off of this planet?" 

At the mention of his name, there was a brilliant blast of malice that shaded her grey eyes. 

"No. He must have forgotten to mention that little detail," Kathryn said finally, turning her attention back to scrubbing the wall down. 

"We only have a few minutes," B'Elanna ventured, hoping to prod her into getting dressed. 

Her eyes returned to his, seeking answers. "And what if I want to stay here?"   
  
XII: Shards 


	12. Part XII

  
  
Modulation Sydney Alexis--> XII Shards 

"We only have a few minutes," B'Elanna ventured, hoping to prod her into getting dressed. 

Kathryn's deep, haunted, tear-filled eyes turned, seeking answers. "And what if I want to stay here?" 

B'Elanna searched her captain's face seeking any sort of false meaning behind what was said, seeing none, she replied bluntly, "If you stay here, they'll kill you. If you try to escape with us, you stand a chance." 

She paused briefly trying to divine any sort of response. "Look, I don't know what happened between you and Tom, but you have a crew left that needs you to get them the hell out of here. Either you go willingly or I'll knock you out and drag you behind me. Either way, you're coming with us." A broad smile crossed her lips at the end, letting Kathryn know she meant it as a joke. 

"How many are left?" The scrubbing continued. 

"Forty seven. All of the senior staff." 

"Less than half." 

"We only have a few more minutes before the guard change." B'Elanna said, reaching into the closet to pull out her captain's boots and a pair of pants. 

Kathryn set the sponge down and stepped back to survey her work. "You can still see it. Must be a porous material. Will probably always be pink," she said, reaching out her hand to trace the outline. 

"We can scan the walls from the ship. We can blow the whole damned compound up if you want. Just get dressed so we can get out of here." 

B'Elanna thrust the clothing bundle into Kathryn's hands. The latter looked down at the fabric then back at the wall. "Did you manage to release everyone from The Yard?" 

Blowing out a puff of air, B'Elanna nodded. "Yeah. Didn't take much convincing. Now hurry. I'll wait in the living room." 

§ Ø § 

The inky blackness of his office was only broken by the screen's light. It filtered through various pictures of The Yard, The Farm, and the generals behind their creation. Somehow, his guards had failed him. The information had been leaked. His attention was not drawn by the sound of the door opening behind him nor from the throat being cleared. 

"Doctor," he voice, evenly. "You'll forgive my lack of a surprise at your appearance." 

"You seemed to have missed your weekly injection, G'Tol Kairon, sir." 

"Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?" He said, swerving around in his chair. "I suppose you've entered just enough of your witch's brew to make me ill but not kill me." 

The doctor's stunned expression rose to meet Kairon. 

"You and I aren't that much different." 

"With all due respect..." 

"We're both killers. Both created for the sole purpose of serving those that society deemed as better than us. Both reprogrammed and recreated if either of us steps out of line by our keepers. Both forced to do work that we may or may not agree with fundamentally. And, in the end, when we have outlived our usefulness or have proved ourselves to be too much of a hassle, they will terminate us." 

"Quite a beautiful monologue. Did you make it up on the spur of the moment, or have you been planning it awhile now?" 

A cruel smile twisted as Kairon's lips. "I didn't expect you to feel sorry for me, Doctor. I was merely putting my life and death into perspective for you." 

"And while I don't agree with your methods, you are only doing what your superiors ordered you to do," the Doctor supplied with faux sincererity. 

Kairon nodded his head. "You recreate the act and fail to see it. We killed to protect and provide for our people just as you have killed us for the same." 

The Doctor opened his mouth to speak but was stopped by Kairon's raised hand. "Within your computer's core, you will find all the information that my people have gathered about cloning. While you might disagree with the methods in which it was perfected, it might prove to be of use to you someday. Don't let the information be lost," Kairon said, swerving in his chair again, looking at the monitors. 

The doctor touched the base of his hypospray, increasing the dosage before approaching Kairon. The soldier made no effort to stop him. 

"It will take approximately fifteen hours to overtake your system. Until then, you will be a carrier. All those you come in contact with stand the chance of becoming ill." 

Kairon nodded his understanding. 

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you figure it out?" the Doctor ventured. 

Their eyes met. Kairon smiled briefly at the Doctor. 

"It's what I would have done." 

§ Ø § 

There was no warning klaxons. No shouts to halt. Nor was their phaser fire as Tom and Neelix exited the nursery with Hope in tow. The tiny baby was nestled against the Talaxian's brightly colored tunic, giggling happily as the three of them walked quickly down the hallway. 

"We're to meet the others at the science lab. Harry is going to guide us to the transport shuttles," Neelix whispered. 

Tom nodded absentmindedly, ear attuned to the sound of the approaching guard. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears as the thunk of boots against the flooring grew near. A hand's breath from the edge of the hall, Tom raced around the corner, smashing his fist into the guard's neck. A deep gurgling sound and the sputtering of blood from his mouth followed as the guard fell to his knees, eyes locking on his attacker. 

Neelix rounded the corner, holding Hope closer to his chest to block her view. 

"H-how did you..." he stuttered. 

"New Zealand. Sometimes it pays to tap into your roots," Tom explained as he reached down to take the guard's weapons-- a dagger, a phaser rifle, and a hand gun-- before they resumed their course. 

Two left turns and one right found them a few meters from the science lab and a brawl that had broken out between B'Elanna, Kathryn, and the guards assigned to this sector. B'Elanna was holding her own, matching her attacker hit for hit. Kathryn, on the other hand was pressed against the wall. One guard's beefy hands were wrapped around her neck, her feet dangling helplessly off the ground as her nails clawed at his face in an attempt to free herself. In the space of time it took for Tom to react, she had managed to gore one of the guard's eyes out. He howled in pain and tightened his grip on her throat all but cutting off the flow of oxygen and blood through her system. Light headedness turned into bouts of blackness. 

She watched from over the guard's shoulder as Tom raised his rifle and fired at the guard that held her against the wall. An unidentifiable look passed between them, and she couldn't help but feel the irony in the situation; he'd had her pinned to a wall not more than half an hour before. 

Her eyes darted from him to the child in Neelix's arms and back again. Any further interaction was cut short by the scream the guard released. It, coupled with the sound of the weapon's discharge made the other four guards turn toward the shooter. All advanced on Tom, Neelix, and Hope. Tom began firing rounds, noting that these were Royal guards--built to protect Kairon alone, and were taking a lot more fire to slow them. Ten steps saw them surrounded and a meaty fist connecting with Tom's side. His pilfered weapon went clambering across the ground. 

Neelix took a step back as one of the guards came toward him. Hope began wailing in his arms, sensing the fear and danger around her. Neelix did the only thing that he could do, set the baby down and began fighting for their lives. The first blow the guard gave sent him flying against the wall so hard it left an indentation. The second left a gash in his forehead that let blood seep into his left eye. Undaunted, he rose, adrenalin giving strength and blocking out sanity as he advanced on the guard, striking him hard in the knee cap. The guard howled in pain as the joint folded in on itself. 

Repeating the move he had seen Tom commit only a few moments before, Neelix pulled back his fist and allowed it to fly at the guards neck, missing the voice box and landing at the cordid artery. The guard fell backwards with a loud thud. Unsure of if he was dead or unconscious, Neelix grabbed his hand phaser from the guard's belt and fired at his chest. The wound expanded, burning through flesh, muscle, sinew, and bone until the floor beneath was clearly visible. He turned then, firing on the two guards Tom and B'Elanna were struggling to dispatch. 

A weary eye turned on Neelix. "I told you to take her and I'd clear the way," Tom spat angrily, scooping his daughter up into his arms. His eyes drawn to the blood that speckled across her face. 

"A baby?" B'Elanna breathed beside him. "You and the Captain had a baby while you were here?" Not even trying to suppress the hurt sound. 

Tom's eyes darted toward Kathryn who was leaning heavily against a doorframe, trying to catch her breath. 

"In a matter of speaking, yeah." 

§ Ø § 

"I had hoped I would never live to see this day, but as surely as your men failed to find the information Kenoshia was carrying so shall we all die." Gepek, the Chief Liaison to the Industrial Order stated, folding his hands in front of him. 

"What does the Order intend to do?" One of the board's two military advisors inquired, taking a long sip of the iced water in front of him. 

"What they always planned to do," Gepek said, shrugging his shoulders. His eyes turned from the empty seat once filled by Talken to Kairon. "We are canceling the project and removing all proof of its existence. Your sacrifice is for the glory of our empire." 

"End of Days." Kairon spat out bitterly. 

"It was only a matter of time before it was enacted. You might be physically more advanced, but your mental capacity is scrambled by all that genetic engineering. After all...you did allow this to happen to yourself." 

"I did nothing of the sort," Kairon thundered, standing a bit too quickly, grabbing the edge of the table to right himself. 

"A likely story. You are already showing the signs of the weariness caused by the stress of your command. You cannot even keep control over your guards and prisoners." 

"Having you encouraging his men to go against him did not help, Gepek," the elder military leader spoke. 

"Oh really? And how do you propose we keep our checks and balances in one place, hmmm? He can't even keep this illness from spreading out. It's just further example that this entire project was a bad idea from the start. That's why your services are no longer need..." 

"Once your creations are all destroyed, your people will no longer be living in the comforts they once enjoyed." 

"We shall see," Gepek said, pausing to read over the orders he had been handed that morning. "You are to see to the project, of course." 

"No need for the Order to get themselves entangled with such a mess." 

"Precisely," Gepek said, standing. "I will assume you will remember the order of events, but, in case there is any question in your mind, this PADD has all of the details." With that, he stood and began walking toward the large double doors. He was halted by Kairon's parting words. 

"Funny thing about the illness spreading across The Farm; it seems to have become airborne. All those with Kamien blood have become infected. I wonder how quickly it will spread among those that are full blood." 

§ Ø § 

The quarantine section was relatively easy to get to considering few guards were willing to keep watch of prisoners that may or may not be at fault for the illness sweeping the compound. With only a handful of words, Tuvok had managed to heard all of the surrounding guards into an adjacent hallway and give them a lethal dosage of the serum. 

With a silent motion, Chakotay signaled for Seven to step forward and override the door latch. With practiced precision, she flipped open the tricorder, glad to feel the familiar weight in her hand. Assimilation tubules inserted themselves into the device and a blue beam emanated from the front of it. The door's answering green beam scanned her. The two colors met, swirled and formed a purplish mixture. 

"Recognize G'tol Kairon. Welcome to the Quarantine Holding Center A. Current count-- 13. All humanoid. Voyager Alphas." 

Chell was the first to speak. The first to stand. His eyes blinked once, twice, and his fist came up to rub his eyes. "Seven?" 

"Come. Quickly. We are escaping." 

§ Ø § 

"Are you sure this order is correct, sir?" 

The Yard's forth in command nodded his head slowly. "Information has been leaked to the private sector. All proof must be erased..." 

"Up to and including all clones," the first guard interjected, climbing into the oven after setting the time release knob. 

"If non-compliance means death, and they have ordered us to 'erase all evidence' why are we simply following orders still?" 

§ Ø § 

Harry stood at his post, entering the final codes that would break the captain's security lock out and allow Tuvok to beam the guards on the ship into the mountains. 

His consul blinked once...twice. Finally the light came on. He signaled Tuvok with a silent nod. They waited in silence until they heard the sound of the turbolift. It clicked into place, and, with a swish of the doors, B'Elanna stepped out, phaser raised. 

Tuvok used that moment of confusion to lock onto and beam the guards off the ship. 

B'Elanna stepped out followed closely by Kathryn. 

"Captain on the bridge," Harry said, with a sense of pride. 

She cast a glance at Tuvok, offering him a warm smile. "Are all the crew that's alive accounted for?" 

"43. We lost a few trying to get aboard, Captain." 

The lift doors opened again. Seven, Chakotay, Tom, Neelix, and Hope exited this time. Kathryn's eyes fell on the child briefly. She watched curious grey eyes turn and meet hers. Chubby arms reaching for the fuzzy object in the distance that Hope understood was somehow connected to her. Kathryn's eyes left the child to turn on the person holding her. An unspoken question passed between them--why bring her on the bridge-- before turning back to the view screen. Behind her, she heard the sound of the turbolift doors open and close again. 

"Those with major injures are in sickbay. The rest are at their posts." 

Captain Janeway nodded. "Mr. Paris, take the con. Mr. Tuvok, as soon as Harry gets the shield around the ship down, I want you to lock onto The Farm, Yard and fire at will." 

"Yes, Captain." 

She slipped onto the end of her chair, suppressing a scream as her body made contact. The long walk to the bridge had been enough to reopen barely sealed wounds and blood was still seeping through her shirt though those on the bridge pretended not to notice. In days past, they would have at least made the subtle suggestion to visit the Doctor. 

§ Ø § 

Kairon sat at his desk reading over the PADD he had been given hours before. Gepek had intentionally used the same one that Kenoshia had delivered to him; the soldier's DNA was still fresh as was the infection. His eyes were drawn to the screens on the far side of his office. 

His guards were gathered for their evening meal. 

Tanari was hard a work in the greenhouse trying to find a cure. 

The Beta Voyager clones were gathered in clumps talking. 

The quarters of the originals were all empty. 

The hallways leading to them and the transport vehicles were filled with dead soldiers. 

All of Voyager's shuttles were missing from the Kamien bay that had held them for over a year, and a long disabled ship that had mysteriously powered up. 

Hand resting limply on his consul, his fingers twitched over the warning klaxon. It was his duty to warn the Industrial Order's fleet of any escape attempt. It would mean his death and the death of all of his men if he didn't report it. But he was already ordered to put them to death. His fingers moved to the panel on the left, coming to rest on his communications array instead. 

§ Ø § 

"Captain, we're receiving a message from Kairon. It's text only." 

Janeway turned in her seat. 

"What does it say, Mr. Kim?" 

"It's addressed to the Doctor. It says "Even killers can show some compassion." 

The screen before the ship blinked twice and then the green shroud in front of the view screen disappeared. Kathryn turned toward Tuvok asking wordlessly if she was seeing things clearly. His eyebrow raised marginally higher. 

"It would appear that Kairon has lowered the shield holding Voyager in place." 

"Yellow alert. Begin the assent, Mr. Paris." 

"Aye, Captain." 

The ship rolled and lurched as Tom manually went through the ship's take off procedures. "We're climbing, retracting landing struts. Fifteen seconds until we clear the upper atmosphere." 

"No resistance detected," Tuvok intoned, not raising his eyes from his read-outs. 

"Now in standard orbit, Captain." 

"Targeting all cloning facilities." 

"Fire at will." 

The assembled crew watched the image called up through the main view screen as several sprays of orange torpedoes blazed their way through the atmosphere making contact with the surface of The Farm and Yard. Billowing grey towers of smoke and craters remained. Builds on the outreaching areas were consumed with bright orange flames that leapt high into the air, occassionally biting their way through the hazy fog. 

"The Yard has been destroyed, The Farm has taken heavy damage." 

She nodded absently. A year in the making and yet if felt empty. It went too simply. Without problem. It was an anti-climatic victory at best. 

"Captain, we have three Kamien vessels approaching from the aft." 

"Tuvok." 

"Targeting. Direct hit to their lead vessel. Shields are down 34%. They are returning fire." 

"Evasive maneuvers, Tom. Try and put some distance between us." 

"On it." 

"Tuvok, target their resource hold, weaponry and ship farms." 

"Captain..." 

"Do it!" 

"Aye. Targeting." 

"Kamien vessels are thirteen seconds from weapons range." 

"Slip stream charged and ready," B'Elanna called from her station. 

Janeway's eyes darted towards her in confusion then back to the view screen. 

"Holds destroyed. Ten percent of civilian population was hit as well." 

"Engaging slip stream," Tom replied, not waiting for the further orders. The ship lurked again as it had during take off. 

Kathryn sat, feeling the deck plates vibrating beneath her feet, watching the stars swirl horribly out of control until all there remained were a host deep blue tendrils that surrounded the ship and held it like a vice as they were hurled toward their escape. 

"Kamiens are pursuing. They've entered the slip stream." 

"Reverse view." 

Turning in her seat, she cast her gaze upon Tuvok. "Target the area around their shield emitters." 

"That area is only crew quarters, Captain. Non-essential." Harry replied, dutifully scanning the area. 

"Kathryn?" Chakotay questioned quietly in that syrupy-sweet voice he reserved for her. The icy stare made shrink back slightly. 

"I've had a full year to rethink our attack. I spent months rebuilding their shuttles, repairing damage done by other vessels, pouring over reports and schematics of their ships. I know where their weaknesses are and I know how to use them against the Kamiens." 

"Direct hit to the second ship. It's shields are down." 

"It's exiting the steam," Harry replied. 

"Firing on the lead ship. Shields down to sixty-seven point three percent. They're still pursuing." 

"The third ship is taking up a flanking position and is firing." 

"Shields down 73%" 

"Tuvok, vent hydrogen from the Bussard collectors." 

"Hydrogen vented." 

"Wait for it. Wait for it." 

"They are closing in fast." 

"Fire!" 

"Tom..." 

"I'm on it." 

"Slip stream is losing cohesion," B'Elanna called out from her station. "We won't be able to hold it much longer." 

"The first ship's shields are down to 3%. The third are down to 56.3%. Neither ship is breaking off their attack." 

"Fire at will." 

Janeway watched the screen as the swirling blue of the stream was interrupted by a volley of orange fire shooting through the field toward the first vessel. It broke apart at impact, debris flying in all directions. 

"The final ship's shields are down 23.5%. They are breaking off their attack." 

Kathryn nodded, standing on shaky legs and walked with uneven steps toward her ready room. Stopping on impulse to stand behind Tom, she placed her hand on her shoulder. 

Darkened eyes turned to meet hers. The smirk usually associated with such action a year before was missing. 

"Lay in a course for home, Mr. Paris." 

He nodded and turned from her. Recoiling, she turned and walked wearily into her old sanctuary to find her coffee cup still resting on her desk where she had left it, the liquid long since evaporated. With a sigh, she slumped into her sofa and buried her face in her hands.   
  
Epilogue and Author's Notes 


	13. Part XIII

  
  
XIII Bits and Pieces Epilogue 

"Captain's Personal Log, Supplemental: 

"Seven weeks have passed since Voyager was able to escape the Kamien home world. Officially our ability to escape was due, in part, to the plan initiated by B'Elanna, Harry, and the Doctor. They have as of yet to reveal any details of their plans. I openly and willingly admit that I ordered Tuvok to destroy all cloning facilities full well knowing that I was ordering him to take a multitude of lives, but I feel no guilt for that order. 

"Had we not escaped when we did, I am not sure I _could_ have continued. While the time I was in there is something I would never want to relive, I have to acknowledge the bond Tom and I shared. If it weren't for his support while at The Yard, I don't know if I would still be alive. 

"While on Kamien, I did a great deal of introspection. The silence of our cell at night was so deafening. My past, my future became blurred into a mixture of regret, hope, anger, and self-loathing. I went between every emotion: guilt from being trapped in the Delta Quadrant, hope with each dawn, fear during each beating, and, the most unexpected of all, love. The rational side tells me that it is nothing more than post traumatic stress syndrome, and that all of my feelings were twisted in my mind for my own survival sake. However, I cannot ignore the fact that Tom acted as my anchor, forcing me to stay tied to this world. In the beginning, he used laughter, but, towards the end, he openly admitted how he felt for me. At the very end, we destroyed each other. 

"I had always thought that I could ignore my romantic feelings for any member of this crew until I got them home. Once we were trapped and I started to give into the idea that I would die on that planet, I allowed them to surface. Throwing caution, protocol, and all of my training to the wind, I walked in with open arms and allowed myself to fall love. At least I thought that it was love. Confronted with Hope, love turned to lust, lust turned to rage and brutality. 

"I still carry the scars of that brutality. B'Elanna encouraged me to go to the Doctor and have them healed, but I chose not to. I wear those scars like Hester Prynne wore her Scarlet Letter. I initiated the incident and I'll keep it to cling to as surely as Tom clings to that child." 

§ Ø § 

Tom sat on the deck of his father's boat, overlooking the carnival in the distance. The holodeck recreation of San Diego didn't do the place justice. Sighing, he sat back on the hard, wooden deck chair. 

"I took your mother here once," he said, wistfully to the child in his arms. 

"We were happy here. She and I."   


A/N: Well...here it is. The end. At least for now. I plan on writing a sequel (eventually) that will deal with the aftermath and the lose ends. It'll probably be along the same lines as this one-- long and angst-filled, but it will take place on the ship rather than on some unknown planet X. 

This piece was one that I learned from. It was hard to write. Physically and mentally demanding because I kept having to ask myself 'would this character do this. Would they say this.' I grappled with the ending for months. I wanted it to be in keeping with the spirit of the piece. I wanted the reader to have closure. I knew it couldn't be happy and perfect and all of that, but there had to be some sense of hope for these characters. (No pun intended). 

I also knew that I wanted them to escape but at a high cost. I wanted to explore the dark side of these characters, of a relationship, and the idea that children are not always wanted. As a dear friend of mine pointed out I had the unique opportunity of showing a woman experiencing child birth from the other side of the uterus. (Not knowing about it until the deed was done and not wanting to be responsible in the end). Kathryn had no time to bond with this child. She felt nothing for it and I wanted her to come across that way because not every woman wants to be a mother. 

Another scene that I struggled with was the sex scene. I knew what I wanted to happen. What I needed to happen. It had to be painful and hard and cruel and break up my super couple because there was no other way for Tom to be with his daughter than to not choose Kathryn. The problem that I had was that they were both victimized and I struggled to make it appear that way. I also wanted the sex to be two sided and not seem like rape. The problem is that I have personal issues against this form of 'sex' (and I use the term lightly here). To be frank, the scene was nothing more than fucking. It was meant to be rough, coarse, and unsettling. If I accomplished making you squirm in your seats then I did my job. 

This piece isn't beta'd. It probably never will be given the length. I did have a great deal of alpha level advice. Mostly from my biggest cheerleader-- Athena. She was the one that kept me on the straight and narrow. Forced me to see things from a different point of view, and, in the end, the story grew to be a hell of a lot stronger because of her. A simple thank you isn't good enough to repay you. 

I'd also like to thank my more silent cheerleaders-- Geordi and Kendra for always politely asking where the next bit is. 

So...here I am five and a half years after starting this story and it's amazing to think that I'm summing everything up in just a handful of paragraphs. Thanks to all of you that actually read this story and who patiently waited for the next installment. The next and last in the series will also be years in coming. I need a break. I need to get out of these people's heads because, frankly, it's just too dark and hard to stay here for any length of time. 

I will also say this--the next installment won't be published to the net until more than half of it is complete. Takes the stress off of me. 

And now for my parting gift. For those of you that like everything tied up nice and neatly in a little bow, I thought that I would include an epilogue. 

~Syd 


End file.
